CHAPTER XIII.
WHO DIANA WAS.
Bussy rose, bewildered at his own happiness, and entered withDiana into the room which M. de Monsoreau had just quitted. Helooked at Diana with astonishment and admiration; he had notdared to hope that the woman whom he had sought for, would equalthe woman of his dream, and now the reality surpassed all thathe had taken for a caprice of his imagination. Diana was aboutnineteen, that is to say in the first eclat of that youth andbeauty which gives the purest coloring to the flower, the finestflavor to the fruit. There was no mistaking the looks of Bussy;Diana felt herself admired. At last she broke the silence.
"Monsieur," said she, "you have told me who you are, but not howyou came here."
"Madame, the cause of my presence here will come naturally outof the recital you have been good enough to promise me; I amsure of it, from some words of your conversation with M. deMonsoreau."
"I will tell you all, monsieur; your name has been sufficientto inspire me with full confidence, for I have always heard ofit as of that of a man of honor, loyalty, and courage."
Bussy bowed, and Diana went on.
"I am the daughter of the Baron de Meridor--that is to say, theonly heiress of one of the noblest and oldest names in Anjou."
"There was," said Bussy, "a Baron de Meridor, who, although hecould have saved himself, came voluntarily and gave up his swordat the battle of Pavia, when he heard that the king was a prisoner,and begged to accompany Francis to Madrid, partook his captivity,and only quitted him to come to France and negotiate his ransom."
"It was my father, monsieur, and if ever you enter the greathall of the Chateau de Meridor you will see, given in memory ofthis devotion, the portrait of Francis I., painted by Leonardoda Vinci."
"Ah!" said Bussy, "in those times kings knew how to recompensetheir followers."
"On his return from Spain my father married. His two first children,sons, died. This was a great grief to the Baron de Meridor. Whenthe king died, my father quitted the court, and shut himselfwith his wife in the Chateau de Meridor. It was there that I wasborn, ten years after the death of my brothers.
"Then all the love of the baron was concentrated on the childof his old age; his love for me was idolatry. Three years aftermy birth I lost my mother, and, too young to feel my loss, mysmiles helped to console my father. As I was all to him, so washe also all to me. I attained my sixteenth year without dreamingof any other world than that of my sheep, my peacocks, my swans,and my doves, without imagining that this life would change,or wishing that it should.
"The castle of Meridor was surrounded by vast forests, belongingto the Duc d'Anjou; they were filled with deer and stags, whomno one thought of tormenting, and who had grown quite familiarto me; some of them would even come when I called them, and one,a doe, my favorite Daphne, my poor Daphne, would come and eatout of my hand.
"One spring I had missed her for a month, and was ready to weepfor her as for a friend, when she reappeared with two littlefawns. At first they were afraid of me, but seeing their mothercaress me, they soon learned to do the same.
"About this time we heard that the Duc d'Anjou had sent a governorinto the province, and that he was called the Comte de Monsoreau.A week passed, during which everyone spoke of the new governor.One morning the woods resounded with the sound of the horn, andthe barking of dogs. I ran to the park, and arrived just in timeto see Daphne, followed by her two fawns, pass like lightning,pursued by a pack of hounds. An instant after, mounted on a blackhorse, M. de Monsoreau flew past me.
"I cried out and implored pity for my poor protegee, but he didnot hear me. Then I ran after him, hoping to meet either thecount or some of his suite and determined to implore them to stopthis chase, which pierced my heart. I ran for some time withoutknowing where, for I had lost sight of both dogs and hunters.
"Soon I could not even hear them, so I sat down at the foot ofa tree, and began to cry. I had been there about a quarter ofan hour, when I heard the chase again. The noise came nearer andnearer, and, darting forward, I saw my poor Daphne again; shehad but one fawn with her now, the other had given way throughfatigue. She herself was growing visibly tired, and the distancebetween her and the hounds was less than when I saw her first.
"As before, I exerted myself in vain to make myself heard. M. deMonsoreau saw nothing but the animal he was chasing; he passedmore quickly that ever, with his horn to his mouth, which hewas sounding loudly. Behind him two or three hunters animatedthe dogs with horn and voice. All passed me like a tempest, anddisappeared in the forest. I was in despair, but I ran on oncemore and followed a path which I knew led to the castle of Beauge.belonging to the Duc d'Anjou, and which was about six miles fromthe castle of Meridor. It was not till I arrived there that Iremembered that I was alone, and far from home.
"I confess that a vague terror seized me, and that then only Ithought of the imprudence and folly of my conduct. I followedthe border of the lake, intending to ask the gardener (who, whenI had come there with my father, had often given me bouquets) totake me home, when all at once I heard the sound of the chaseagain. I remained motionless, listening, and I forgot all else.Nearly at the same moment the doe reappeared, coming out of thewood on the other side of the lake, but pursued so closely thatshe must be taken immediately. She was alone, her second fawnhad fallen, but the sight of the water seemed to reanimate her,and she plunged in as if she would have come to me. At firstshe swam rapidly, and I looked at her with tears in my eyes,and almost as breathless as herself; insensibly her strengthfailed her, while the dogs seemed to grow more and more earnestin their pursuit. Soon some of them reached her, and, stoppedby their bites, she ceased to advance. At this moment, M. deMonsoreau appeared at the border of the lake, and jumped offhis horse. Then I collected all my strength to cry for pity,with clasped hands. It seemed to me that he saw me, and I criedagain. He heard me, for he looked at me; then he ran towardsa boat, entered it, and advanced rapidly towards the animal,who was fighting among the dogs. I did not doubt that, movedby my voice, he was hastening to bring her succor, when all atonce I saw him draw his hunting knife, and plunge it into theneck of the poor animal. The blood flowed out, reddening thewater at the lake, while the poor doe uttered a doleful cry,beat the water with her feet, reared up, and then fell back dead.
"I uttered a cry almost as doleful as hers, and fell faintingon the bank. When I came to myself again, I was in bed, in aroom of the chateau of Beauge, and my father, who had been sentfor, standing by me. As it was nothing but over-excitement, thenext morning I was able to return home; although I suffered forthree or four days. Then my father told me, that M. de Monsoreau,who had seen me, when I was carried to the castle, had come toask after me; he had been much grieved when he heard that he hadbeen the involuntary cause of my accident and begged to presenthis excuses to me, saying, that he could not be happy until hehad his pardon from my own lips.
"It would have been ridiculous to refuse to see him, so, in spiteof my repugnance, I granted his request. He came the next day;I felt that my behavior must have seemed strange, and I excusedit on the ground of my affection for Daphne. The count sworetwenty times, that had he known I had any interest in his victim,he would have spared her with pleasure; but his protestationsdid not convince me, nor remove the unfavorable impression Ihad formed of him. When he took leave, he asked my father'spermission to come again. He had been born in Spain and educatedat Madrid, and it was an attraction for my father to talk overthe place where he had been so long a prisoner. Besides, thecount was of good family, deputy-governor of the province, anda favorite, it was said, of the Due d'Anjou; my father had nomotive for refusing his request, and it was granted. Alas! fromthis moment ceased, if not my happiness, at least my tranquillity.I soon perceived the impression I had made on the count; he beganto come every day, and was full of attentions to my father, whoshowed the pleasure he took in his conversation, which was certainlythat of a clever man.
"One morning my father entered my room with an air graver tha
nusual, but still evidently joyful. 'My child,' said he, 'youalways have said you did not wish to leave me.'
"'Oh! my father,' cried I, 'it is my dearest wish.'
"'Well, my Diana,' continued he, embracing me, 'it only dependsnow on yourself to have your wish realized.' I guessed what hewas about to say, and grew dreadfully pale.
"'Diana, my child, what is the matter?' cried he.
"'M. de Monsoreau, is it not?' stammered I. 'Well?' said he,astonished. 'Oh! never, my father, if you have any pity for yourdaughter, never----'
"'Diana, my love,' said he, 'it is not pity I have for you, butidolatry; you know it; take a week to reflect, and if then----'
"'Oh! no, no,' cried I, 'it is useless; not a day, not a minute!No, no, no!' and I burst into tears. My father adored me, and hetook me in his arms, and gave me his word that he would speakto me no more of this marriage.
"Indeed, a month passed, during which I neither heard of norsaw M. de Monsoreau. One morning we received an invitation to agrand fete which M. de Monsoreau was to give to the Duc d'Anjou,who was about to visit the province whose name he bore. To thiswas added a personal invitation from the prince, who had seenmy father at court. My first impulse was to beg my father torefuse, but he feared to offend the prince, so we went. M. deMonsoreau received us as though nothing had passed, and behavedto me exactly as he did to the other ladies.
"Not so the duke. As soon as he saw me, he fixed his eyes onme, and scarcely ever removed them. I felt ill at ease underthese looks, and begged my father to go home early. Three daysafter M. de Monsoreau came to Meridor; I saw him from the windows,and shut myself up in my own room. When he was gone, my fathersaid nothing to me, but I thought he looked gloomy.
"Four days passed thus, when, as I was returning from a walk,the servants told me that M. de Monsoreau was with my father, whohad asked for me several times, and had desired to be immediatelyinformed of my return. Indeed, no sooner had I entered my room,than my father came to me.
"'My child,' said he, 'a motive which I cannot explain to you,forces me to separate myself from you for some days. Do not questionme, but be sure that it is an urgent one, since it determinesme to be a week, a fortnight, perhaps a month, without seeingyou.' I trembled, I knew not why, but I fancied that the visitsof M. de Monsoreau boded me no good.
"'Where am I to go, my father?' asked I.
"'To the chateau of Lude, to my sister, where you will be hiddenfrom all eyes. You will go by night.' 'And do you not accompanyme?' 'No, I must stay here, to ward off suspicion; even the servantsmust not know where you are going.' 'But then, who will take methere?' 'Two men whom I can trust.' 'Oh! mon Dieu! father,' Icried. The baron embraced me. 'It is necessary, my child,' saidhe.
"I knew my father's love for me so well that I said no more,only I asked that Gertrude, my nurse, should accompany me. Myfather quitted me, telling me to get ready.
"At eight o'clock (it was dark and cold, for it was the middleof winter) my father came for me. We descended quietly, crossedthe garden, when he opened himself a little door leading to theforest, and there we found a litter waiting, and two men; myfather spoke to them, then I got in, and Gertrude with me.
"My father embraced me once more, and we set off. I was ignorantwhat danger menaced me, and forced me to quit the castle of Meridor.I did not dare to question my conductors, whom I did not know. Wewent along quietly, and the motion of the litter at last sentme to sleep, when I was awoke by Gertrude, who, seizing my arm,cried out, 'Oh, mademoiselle, was is the matter?'
"I passed my head through the curtains. We were surrounded by sixmasked cavaliers, and our men, who had tried to defend me, weredisarmed. He who appeared the chief of the masked men approachedme, and said; 'Reassure yourself, mademoiselle, no harm will bedone to you, but you must follow us.'
"'Where?' I asked. 'To a place,' he replied, 'where, far fromhaving anything to complain of, you will be treated like a queen.''Oh! my father! my father!' I cried. 'Listen, mademoiselle,'said Gertrude, 'I know the environs, and I am strong; we may beable to escape.'
"'You must do as you will with us, gentlemen,' said I, 'we arebut two poor women, and cannot defend ourselves.' One of the menthen took the place of our conductor, and changed the directionof our litter."
Here Diana stopped a moment, as if overcome with emotion.
"Oh, continue, madame, continue," cried Bussy.
It was impossible for Diana not to see the interest she inspiredin the young man; it was shown in his voice, his gestures, hislooks. She smiled, and went on.
"We continued our journey for about three hours, then the litterstopped. I heard a door open, we went on, and I fancied we werecrossing a drawbridge. I was not wrong, for, on looking out ofthe litter, I saw that we were in the courtyard of a castle.What castle was it? We did not know. Often, during the route,we had tried to discover where we were, but seemed to be in anendless forest. The door of our litter was opened, and the sameman who had spoken to us before asked us to alight. I obeyedin silence. Two men from the castle had come to meet us withtorches; they conducted us into a bedroom richly decorated, wherea collation waited for us on a table sumptuously laid out.
"'You are at home here, madame,' said the same man, 'and theroom for your servant is adjoining. When you wish for anything,you have but to strike with the knocker on this door, and someone, who will be constantly in the antechamber, will wait onyou.' This apparent attention showed that we were guarded. Thenthe man bowed and went out, and we heard him lock the door behindhim.
"Gertrude and I were alone. She was about to speak, but I signedher to be silent, for perhaps some one was listening. The doorof the room which had been shown us as Gertrude's was open, andwe went in to examine it. It was evidently the dressing-room tomine, and was also locked. We were prisoners. Gertrude approachedme, and said in a low tone: 'Did demoiselle remark that we onlymounted five steps after leaving the court?' 'Yes,' said I.'Therefore we are on the ground floor.' 'Doubtless.' 'So that----'said she, pointing to the window. 'Yes, if they are not barred.''And if mademoiselle had courage.' 'Oh! yes, I have.'
"Gertrude then took a light, and approached the window. It openedeasily, and was not barred; but we soon discovered the causeof this seeming negligence on the part of our captors. A lakelay below us, and we were guarded by ten feet of water betterthan by bolts and bars. But in looking out I discovered where wewere. We were in the chateau of Beauge, where they had broughtme on the death of my poor Daphne. This castle belonged to theDuc d'Anjou, and a sudden light was thrown upon our capture.We shut the window again, and I threw myself, dressed, on mybed, while Gertrude slept in a chair by my side. Twenty timesduring the night I woke, a prey to sudden terror; but nothingjustified it, excepting the place where I found myself, for allseemed asleep in the castle, and no noise but the cry of thebirds interrupted the silence of the night. Day appeared, butonly to confirm my conviction that flight was impossible withoutexternal aid; and how could that reach us? About nine they came totake away the supper and bring breakfast. Gertrude questioned theservants, but they did not reply. Our morning passed in fruitlessplans for escape, and yet we could see a boat fastened to theshore, with its oars in it. Could we only have reached that,we might have been safe.
"They brought us our dinner in the same way, put it down, andleft us. In breaking my bread I found in it a little note. Iopened it eagerly, and read, 'A friend watches over you. To-morrowyou shall have news of him and of your father.' You can imaginemy joy. The rest of the day passed in waiting and hoping. Thesecond night passed as quietly as the first; then came the hourof breakfast, waited for impatiently, for I hoped to find anothernote. I was not wrong, it was as follows:--'The person who had youcarried off will arrive at the castle of Beauge at ten o'clockthis evening; but at nine, the friend who watches over you willbe under your windows with a letter from your father, which willcommand the confidence you, perhaps, might not otherwise give.Burn this letter.
"I read and re-read this letter, then burned it as I was des
ired.The writing was unknown to me, and I did not know from whom itcould have come. We lost ourselves in conjectures, and a hundredtimes during the morning we went to the window to see if we couldsee any one on the shores of the lake, but all was solitary.An hour after dinner, some one knocked at our door, and thenentered. It was the man who had spoken to us before. I recognizedhis voice; he presented a letter to me.
"'Whom do you come from?' asked I. 'Will mademoiselle take thetrouble to read, and she will see.' 'But I will not read thisletter without knowing whom it comes from.' 'Mademoiselle cando as she pleases; my business is only to leave the letter,'and putting it down, he went away. 'What shall I do?' asked Iof Gertrude. 'Read the letter, mademoiselle; it is better toknow what to expect.' I opened and read."
Diana, at this moment, rose, opened a desk, and from a portfoliodrew out the letter. Bussy glanced at the address and read, "Tothe beautiful Diana de Meridor."
Then looking at Diana, he said--
"It is the Duc d'Anjou's writing."
"Ah!" replied she, with a sigh, "then he did not deceive me."
Then, as Bussy hesitated to open the letter--
"Read," said she, "chance has initiated you into the most secrethistory of my life, and I wish to keep nothing from you."
Bussy obeyed and read--
"An unhappy prince, whom your divine beauty has struck to theheart, will come at ten o'clock to-night to apologize for hisconduct towards you--conduct which he himself feels has no otherexcuse than the invincible love he entertains for you.
"FRANCOIS."
"Then this letter was really from the duke?" asked Diana.
"Alas! yes; it is his writing and his seal."
Diana sighed. "Can he be less guilty than I thought?" said she.
"Who, the prince?"
"No, M. de Monsoreau."
"Continue, madame, and we will judge the prince and the count."
"This letter, which I had then no idea of not believing genuine,rendered still more precious to me the intervention of the unknownfriend who offered me aid in the name of my father; I had nohope but in him. Night arrived soon, for it was in the monthof January, and we had still four or five hours to wait for theappointed time. It was a fine frosty night; the heavens werebrilliant with stars, and the crescent moon lighted the countrywith its silver beams. We had no means of knowing the time, butwe sat anxiously watching at Gertrude's window. At last we sawfigures moving among the trees, and then distinctly heard theneighing of a horse.
"It is our friends,' said Gertrude. 'Or the prince,' replied I.'The prince would not hide himself.' This reflection reassuredme. A man now advanced alone: it seemed to us that he quittedanother group who were left under the shade of the trees. As headvanced, my eyes made violent efforts to pierce the obscurity,and I thought I recognized first the tall figure, then the features,of M. de Monsoreau. I now feared almost as much the help as thedanger. I remained mute, and drew back from the window. Arrived atthe wall, he secured his boat, and I saw his head at our window.I could not repress a cry.
"'Ah, pardon,' said he, 'but I thought you expected me.' 'I expectedsome one, monsieur, but I did not know it was you.' A bitter smilepassed over his face. 'Who else,' said he, 'except her father,watches over the honor of Diana de Meridor?' 'You told me, monsieur,in your letter, that you came in my father's name.' 'Yes,mademoiselle, and lest you should doubt it, here is a note fromthe baron,' and he gave me a paper. I read--
"'MY DEAR DIANA,--M. de Monsoreau can alone extricate you fromyour dangerous position, and this danger is immense. Trust, then,to him as to the best friend that Heaven can send to us. I willtell you later what from the bottom of my heart I wish you todo to acquit the debt we shall contract towards him.
"'Your father, who begs you to believe him, and to have pity onhim, and on yourself,
"'BARON DE MERIDOR.'
"I knew nothing against M. de Monsoreau; my dislike to him wasrather from instinct than reason. I had only to reproach himwith the death of a doe, a very light crime for a hunter. I thenturned towards him. 'Well?' said he. 'Monsieur, I have read myfather's letter, it tells me you will take me from hence, butit does not tell me where you will take me.' 'Where the baronwaits for you.' 'And where is that?' 'In the castle of Meridor.''Then I shall see my father?' 'In two hours.'
"'Ah I monsieur, if you speak truly----' I stopped. The countwaited for the end of my sentence. 'Count on my gratitude,' saidI in a trembling tone, for I knew what he might expect from mygratitude. 'Then, mademoiselle,' said he, 'you are ready tofollow me?' I looked at Gertrude. 'Reflect that each minute thatpasses is most precious,' said he, 'I am nearly half an hourbehind time now; it will soon be ten o'clock, and then the princewill be here.' 'Alas! yes.' 'Once he comes, I can do nothing foryou but risk without hope that life which I now risk to saveyou.' 'Why did not my father come?' I asked. 'Your father iswatched. They know every step he takes.' 'But you----' 'Oh! I amdifferent; I am the prince's friend and confidant.' 'Then ifyou are his friend----' 'Yes, I betray him for you; it is true,as I told you just now, I am risking my life to save you.' Thisseemed so true, that although I still felt repugnance, I couldnot express it. 'I wait,' said the count, 'and stay; if you stilldoubt, look there.' I looked, and saw on the opposite shore abody of cavaliers advancing. 'It is the duke and his suite,'said he, 'in five minutes it will be too late.'
"I tried to rise, but my limbs failed me. Gertrude raised mein her arms and gave me to the count. I shuddered at his touch,but he held me fast and placed me in the boat. Gertrude followedwithout aid. Then I noticed that my veil had come off, and wasfloating on the water. I thought they would track us by it, andI cried, 'My veil; catch my veil.' The count looked at it andsaid, 'No, no, better leave it.' And seizing the oars, he rowedwith all his strength. We had just reached the bank when we sawthe windows of my room lighted up. 'Did I deceive you? Was ittime?' said M. de Monsoreau. 'Oh I yes, yes,' cried I, 'you arereally my saviour.'
"The lights seemed to be moving about from one room to the other.We heard voices, and a man entered who approached the open window,looked out, saw the floating veil, and uttered a cry. 'You see Idid well to leave the veil,' said the count, 'the prince believesthat to escape him you threw yourself into the lake.' I trembledat the man who had so instantaneously conceived this idea."