CHAPTER LXVII.
LITTLE CAUSES AND GREAT EFFECTS.
Catherine had, as we have seen, had the worst of the argument.She was surprised, and began to wonder if her son were reallyas decided as he appeared to be, when a slight event changedthe aspect of affairs. Bussy had been, as we said, encouragingthe prince secretly at every word that he thought dangerous tohis cause. Now his cause was war at any price, for he wished tostay in Anjou, watch M. de Monsoreau, and visit his wife. Theduke feared Bussy, and was guided by him. Suddenly, however,Bussy felt himself pulled by his cloak; he turned and saw Remy,who drew him gently towards him.
"What is it, Remy?" said he impatiently. "Why disturb me at sucha moment?"
"A letter."
"And for a letter you take me from this important conversation."
"It is from Meridor."
"Oh! thank you, my good Remy."
"Then I was not wrong?"
"Oh, no; where is it?"
"That is what made me think it of importance; the messenger wouldonly give it to you yourself."
"Is he here?"
"Yes."
"Bring him in."
Remy opened the door, and a servant entered.
"Here is M. de Bussy," said Remy.
"Oh, I know him well," said the man, giving the letter.
"Did she give it to you?"
"No; M. de St. Luc."
As Bussy read, he grew first pale, then crimson. Remy dismissedthe servant, and Bussy, with a bewildered look, held out theletter to him.
"See," said he, "what St. Luc has done for me."
"Well," said Remy, "this appears to me to be very good and St.Luc is a gallant fellow."
"It is incredible!" cried Bussy.
"Certainly; but that is nothing. Here is our position quite changed;I shall have a Comtesse de Bussy for a patient."
"Yes, she shall be my wife. So he is dead."
"So, you see, it is written."
"Oh, it seems like a dream, Remy. What! shall I see no more thatspecter, always coming between me and happiness? It cannot betrue."
"It is true; read again, 'he died there.'"
"But Diana cannot stay at Meridor--I do not wish it; she mustgo where she will forget him."
"Paris will be best; people soon forget at Paris."
"You are right; we will return to the little house in the Ruedes Tournelles, and she shall pass there her months of widowhoodin obscurity."
"But to go to Paris you must have----"
"What?"
"Peace in Anjou."
"True; oh, mon Dieu! what time lost."
"That means that you are going at once to Meridor."
"No, not I, but you; I must stay here; besides, she might notlike my presence just now."
"How shall I see her? Shall I go to the castle?"
"No; go first to the old copse and see if she is there; if sheis not then go to the castle."
"What shall I say to her?"
"Say that I am half mad." And pressing the young man's hand, hereturned to his place behind the tapes try.
Catherine had been trying to regain her ground.
"My son," she had said, "it seemed to me that a mother and soncould not fail to understand each other."
"Yet you see that happens sometimes."
"Never when she wishes it."
"When they wish it, you mean," said the duke, seeking a sign ofapprobation from Bussy for his boldness.
"But I wish it, my son, and am willing to make any sacrificesto attain peace."
"Oh!"
"Yes, my dear child. What do you ask?--what do you demand? Speak."
"Oh, my mother!" said Francois, almost embarrassed at his owneasy victory.
"Listen, my son. You do not wish to drown the kingdom in blood--itis not possible; you are neither a bad Frenchman nor a bad brother."
"My brother insulted me, madame, and I owe him nothing, eitheras my brother or king."
"But I, Francois--you cannot complain of me?"
"Yes, madame, you abandoned me."
"Ah! you wish to kill me. Well, a mother does not care to liveto see her children murder each other!" cried Catherine, whowished very much to live.
"Oh, do not say that, madame, you tear my heart!" cried Francois,whose heart was not torn at all.
Catherine burst into tears. The duke took her hands, and triedto reassure her, not without uneasy glances towards the tapestry.
"But what do you want or ask for, mother? I will listen," saidhe.
"I wish you to return to Paris, dear child, to return to yourbrother's court, who will receive you with open arms."
"No, madame, it is not he whose arms are open to receive me--itis the Bastile."
"No; return, and on my honor, on my love as a mother, I solemnlyswear that you shall be received by the king as though you wereking and he the Duc d'Anjou."
The duke looked to the tapestry.
"Accept, my son; you will have honors, guards."
"Oh, madame, your son gave me guards--his four minions!"
"Do not reply so; you shall choose your own guards, and M. de.Bussy shall be their captain, if you like."
Again the duke glanced to the wall, and, to his surprise, sawBussy smiling and applauding by every possible method.
"What is the meaning of this change?" thought the duke; "is itthat he may be captain of my guards? Then must I accept?" saidhe aloud, as though talking to himself.
"Yes, yes!" signed Bussy, with head and hands.
"Quit Anjou, and return to Paris?"
"Yes!" signed Bussy, more decidedly than ever.
"Doubtless, dear child," said Catherine, "it is not disagreeableto return to Paris."
"Well, I will reflect," said the duke, who wished to consult withBussy.
"I have won," thought Catherine.
They embraced once more, and separated.