Les Quarante-cinq. English

  CHAPTER LXXXVIII.

  FATALITY.

  The next morning, about nine o'clock, the beautiful rays of the sun wereglistening like gold on the graveled walks of Chateau-Thierry. Numerousgangs of workmen, who had the previous evening been directed to be inattendance, had been actively at work from daybreak upon thepreparations in the park, as well as in the decoration of the apartmentsdestined to receive the king, whose arrival was momentarily expected. Asyet nothing was stirring in the pavilion where the duke reposed, for hehad on the previous evening forbidden his two old servants to awakenhim. They were to wait until he summoned them. Toward half-past nine twocouriers rode at full speed into the town, announcing his majesty's neararrival. The civic authorities, the governor, and the garrison formedthemselves in ranks on either side of the road, leaving a passage forthe royal procession. At ten o'clock the king appeared at the foot ofthe hill; he had mounted his horse when they had taken their lastrelays. He never neglected an opportunity of doing so, especially whenentering towns, as he rode admirably. The queen-mother followed him in alitter; fifty gentlemen belonging to the court, richly clad andadmirably mounted, followed in their suite. A company of the guards,followed by Crillon himself, a hundred and twenty of the Swiss, and asmany of the Scotch guards, commanded by Larchant, and all the members ofthe royal household who accompanied the king in his excursions, mules,coffers, and domestic servants, formed a numerous army, the files ofwhich followed the windings of the road leading from the river to thesummit of the hill. Lastly, the cortege entered the town amid theringing of the church bells, the roar of cannon, and bursts of music.The acclamations of the inhabitants were enthusiastic; for a visit fromthe king was of such rare occurrence at that time that, seen thusclosely, he seemed to be a living embodiment of divine right. The king,as he progressed through the crowd, looked on all sides for his brother,but in vain. He only found Henri du Bouchage waiting for him at the gateof the chateau.

  When once within the chateau, Henri III. inquired after the health ofthe Duc d'Anjou from the officer who had assumed the high distinction ofreceiving the king.

  "Sire," replied the latter, "his highness, during the last few days, hasbeen residing in the pavilion in the park, and we have not yet seen himthis morning. It is most probable, however, that as he was wellyesterday, he is well also to-day."

  "This pavilion is in a very retired part of the park, it seems," saidHenri, in a tone of displeasure, "since the sound of the cannon does notseem to have been heard."

  "Sire," one of the duke's two aged attendants ventured to remark, "hishighness did not, perhaps, expect your majesty so soon."

  "Old fool," growled Henri, "do you think, then, that a king presentshimself in this way at other people's residences without informing themof it? Monsieur le Duc d'Anjou has been aware of my intended arrivalsince yesterday."

  And then, afraid of casting a gloom over those around him by a grave orsullen countenance, Henri, who wished to appear gentle and amiable atthe expense of his brother Francois, exclaimed, "Well, then, since hehas not come to meet us, we will go to meet him."

  "Show us the way there," said Catherine, from the litter.

  All the escort followed the road leading to the old park.

  At the very moment that the guards, who were in advance, approached thehedge, a shrill and piercing cry rent the air.

  "What is that?" said the king, turning toward his mother.

  "Great Heaven!" murmured Catherine, endeavoring to read the faces ofthose around her, "it sounded like a cry of distress or despair."

  "My prince! my poor master!" cried Francois' other aged attendant,appearing at the window, and exhibiting signs of the most passionategrief.

  Every one hastened toward the pavilion, the king himself being hurriedalong with the others. He arrived at the very moment when they wereraising from the floor the Duc d'Anjou's body, which hisvalet-de-chambre, having entered without authority, in order to announcethe king's arrival, had just perceived lying on the carpet of thebedroom. The prince was cold, stiff, and perfectly inanimate, and it wasonly by a strange movement of the eyelids and a nervous contraction ofthe lips that it could be observed he was still alive. The king pausedat the threshold of the door, and those behind him followed his example.

  THE PRINCE WAS COLD, STIFF, AND PERFECTLY INANIMATE.]

  "This is an ugly omen," he murmured.

  "Do not enter, my son, I implore you," said Catherine to him.

  "Poor Francois!" said Henri, delighted at being sent away, and thusbeing spared the spectacle of this agonizing scene.

  The crowd, too, followed the king as he withdrew.

  "Strange! strange!" murmured Catherine, kneeling down by the side of theprince, or rather of the corpse, no one being in the room, with her butthe two old servants; and while the messengers were dispatched in everyquarter of the town to find the prince's physician, and while a couriergalloped off to Paris in order to hasten the attendance of the king'sphysicians, who had remained at Meaux with the queen, Catherine, withless knowledge, very probably, but not with less perspicacity than Mironhimself could possibly have shown, examined the diagnostics of thatsingular malady which had struck down her son so suddenly.

  Her experience was by no means indifferent; in the first place,therefore, she interrogated calmly, and without confusing them, the twoattendants, who were tearing their hair and wringing their hands in thewildest despair.

  Both of them replied that the prince had returned on the previousevening about nightfall, after having been disturbed at an inconvenienthour by Monsieur du Bouchage, who had arrived with a message from theking.

  They then added that when the audience had terminated, which had beenheld in the chateau itself, the prince had ordered supper to beprepared, and had desired that no one should venture to approach thepavilion without being summoned; and lastly, that he had given thestrictest injunctions not to be awakened in the morning, and that no oneshould enter without a positive summons.

  "He probably expected a visit from a lady?" observed the queen-mother,inquiringly.

  "We think so, madame," replied the valet respectfully, "but we could notdiscreetly assure ourselves of the fact."

  "But in removing the things from the table, you must have seen whethermy son had supped alone?"

  "We have not yet removed the things, madame, since the orders ofmonseigneur were that no one should enter the pavilion."

  "Very good," said Catherine; "no one, therefore, has been here?"

  "No one, madame."

  "You may go."

  And Catherine was now left quite alone in the room. Leaving the princelying on the bed where he had been placed, she immediately commenced theminutest investigation of each symptom or of each of the traces towhich her attention was directed, as the result of her suspicions orapprehensions.

  She had remarked that Francois' forehead was stained or dyed of a bistercolor, his eyes were bloodshot and encircled with blue lines, his lipsmarked with furrows, like the impression which burning sulphur leaves onliving flesh.

  She observed the same sign upon his nostrils and upon the sides of thenose.

  "Now let me look carefully," she said, gazing about her on every side.

  The first thing she remarked was the candlestick in which the flambeauwhich Remy had lighted the previous evening had burned away.

  "This candle has burned for a length of time," she said, "and shows thatFrancois was a long time in this room. Ah! here is a bouquet lying onthe carpet."

  Catherine picked it up eagerly, and then, remarking that all its flowerswere still fresh, with the exception of a rose, which was blackened anddried up:

  "What does this mean?" she said; "what has been poured on the leaves ofthis flower? If I am not mistaken, I know a liquid which withers rosesin this manner." She threw aside the bouquet, shuddering as she did so.

  "That explains to me the state of the nostrils and the manner in whichthe flesh of the face is affected; but the lips?"

  Catherine ra
n to the dining-room. The valets had spoken the truth, forthere was nothing to indicate that anything on the table had beentouched since the previous evening's repast had been finished.

  Upon the edge of the table lay the half of a peach, in which theimpression of a row of teeth was still visible. Catherine's attentionwas drawn to this in a particular manner, for the fruit, usually of arich crimson near the core, had become as black as the rose, and wasdiscolored by violet and brown spots. The corrosive action was moreespecially visible upon the part which had been cut, and particularly sowhere the knife must have passed.

  "This explains the state of the lips," she said; "but Francois had onlybitten one piece out of this peach. He did not keep the bouquet long inhis hand, for the flowers are still fresh; the evil may yet be repaired,for the poison cannot have penetrated very deeply.

  "And yet, if the evil be merely superficial, why should this paralysisof the senses be so complete, and why indeed should the decomposition ofthe flesh have made so much progress? There must be more that I have notseen."

  And as she spoke Catherine again looked all round her, and observed,hanging by a silver chain to its pole, the red and blue parrot to whichFrancois was so attached.

  The bird was dead, stiff, and the feathers of its wings rough and erect.

  Catherine again looked closely and attentively at the torch which shehad once before already narrowly inspected, to satisfy herself that, byits having burned out completely, the prince had returned early in theevening.

  "The smoke," said Catherine to herself; "the smoke! the wick of thattorch was poisoned; my son is a dead man."

  She called out immediately, and the chamber was in a minute filled withattendants and officers of the household.

  "Miron, Miron!" cried some of them.

  "A priest!" exclaimed the others.

  But Catherine had, in the meantime, placed to the lips of Francois oneof the small bottles which she always carried in her alms-bag, andnarrowly watched her son's features to observe the effect of theantidote she applied.

  The duke immediately opened his eyes and mouth, but no glance ofintelligence gleamed in his eyes, no voice or sound escaped from hislips.

  Catherine, in sad and gloomy silence, quitted the apartment, beckoningto the two attendants to follow her, before they had as yet had anopportunity of communicating with any one.

  She then led them into another chamber, where she sat down, fixing hereyes closely and watchfully on their faces.

  "Monsieur le Duc d'Anjou," she said, "has been poisoned some time duringhis supper last evening; and it was you who served the supper."

  At these words the two men turned as pale as death.

  "Torture us, kill us, if you will," they said; "but do not accuse us."

  "Fools that you are; do you suppose that if I suspected you, that wouldhave already been done? You have not yourselves, I know, assassinatedyour master, but others have killed him; and I must know who themurderers are. Who has entered the pavilion?"

  "An old man, wretchedly clothed, whom monseigneur has seen during thelast two days."

  "But the woman--"

  "We have not seen her--what woman does your majesty mean?"

  "A woman has been here, who made a bouquet--"

  The two attendants looked at each other with an expression of suchsimple surprise that Catherine perceived, by this glance alone, howperfectly innocent they were.

  "Let the governor of the town and the governor of the chateau be sentfor," she said. The two valets hurried to the door.

  "One moment!" exclaimed Catherine, fixing them in their places by thissingle word as they approached the threshold. "You only and myself areaware of what I have just told you; I shall not breathe a word about it;if any one learns it, therefore, it will be from or through one of you;on that very day both your lives shall be forfeited. Now, go!"

  Catherine interrogated the two governors with more reserve. She toldthem that the duke had received from some person or persons adistressing intelligence which had deeply affected him; that that alonewas the cause of his illness, and that if the duke had an opportunity ofputting a few further questions to the persons again, he would in allprobability soon recover from the alarm into which he had been thrown.

  The governors instituted the minutest search in the town, the park, theenvirons, but no one knew what had become of Remy and Diana.

  Henri alone knew the secret, and there was no danger of his betrayingit.

  Throughout the whole day, the terrible news, commented upon,exaggerated, and mutilated, circulated through Chateau-Thierry and theprovince; every one explained, according to his own individual characterand disposition, the accident which had befallen the duke.

  But no one, except Catherine and Du Bouchage, ventured to acknowledgethat the chance of saving the duke's life was hopeless.

  The unhappy prince did not recover either his voice or his senses, orrather, he ceased to give any sign of intelligence.

  The king, who was immediately beset with the gloomiest fancies, which hedreaded more than anything, would very willingly have returned to Paris;but the queen-mother opposed his departure, and the court was obliged toremain at the chateau.

  Physicians arrived in crowds; Miron alone guessed the cause of theillness, and formed an opinion upon its serious nature and extent; buthe was too good a courtier to confess the truth, especially after he hadconsulted Catherine's looks.

  He was questioned on all sides, and he replied that Monsieur le Ducd'Anjou must certainly have suffered from some seriously-disturbingcause, and had been subjected to some violent mental shock.

  In this way he avoided compromising himself, therefore, which is a verydifficult matter in such a case.

  When Henri III. required him to answer affirmatively or negatively tohis question, "Whether the duke would live?" he replied,

  "I will answer your majesty in three days."

  "And when will you tell me?" said Catherine, in a low voice.

  "You, madame, are very different; I answer you unhesitatingly."--"Well?"

  "Your majesty has but to interrogate me."

  "On what day will my son die, Miron?"

  "To-morrow evening, madame."

  "So soon?"

  "Ah! madame," murmured the physician, "the dose was by no means a slightone."

  Catherine placed one of her fingers on her lips, looked at the dyingman, and repeated in an undertone this sinister word, "Fatality!"