The Suitors of Yvonne: being a portion of the memoirs of the Sieur Gaston de Luynes
CHAPTER XIX. OF MY RETURN TO PARIS
Scant cause is there for me to tarry over the details of my return toParis. A sad enough journey was it; as sad for my poor Michelot as formyself, since he rode with one so dejected as I.
Things had gone ill, and I feared that when the Cardinal heard the storythings would go worse, for Mazarin was never a tolerant man, nor one tobe led by the gospel of mercy and forgiveness. For myself I foresaw therope--possibly even the wheel; and a hundred times a day I dubbed myselfa fool for obeying the voice of honour with such punctiliousness whenso grim a reward awaited me. What mood was on me--me, Gaston de Luynes,whose honour had been long since besmirched and tattered until nooutward semblance of honour was left?
But swift in the footsteps of that question would come theanswer--Yvonne. Ay, truly enough, it was because in my heart I haddared to hold a sentiment of love for her, the purest--nay, the onlypure--thing my heart had held for many a year, that I would set nothingvile to keep company with that sentiment; that until my sun shouldset--and already it dropped swiftly towards life's horizon--my actionsshould be the actions of such a man as might win Yvonne's affections.
But let that be. This idle restrospective mood can interest you butlittle; nor can you profit from it, unless, indeed, it be by notinghow holy and cleansing to the heart of man is the love--albeitunrequited--that he bears a good woman.
As we drew near Meung--where we lay on that first night of ourjourney--a light travelling chaise, going in the same direction, passedus at a gallop. As it flashed by, I caught a glimpse of Eugene deCanaples's swart face through the window. Whether the recognition wasmutual I cannot say--nor does it signify.
When we reached the Hotel de la Couronne, half an hour later, we sawthat same chaise disappearing round a corner of the street, whilstthrough the porte-cochere the hostler was leading a pair of horses,foam-flecked and steaming with sweat.
Whither went Master Canaples at such a rate, and in a haste that causedhim to travel day and night? To a goal he little looked for--or rather,which, in the madness of his headlong rush, he could not see. So I wasto learn ere long.
Next day I awoke betimes, and setting my window wide to let in thefresh, clean-smelling air of that May morning I made shift to dress.Save for the cackle of the poultry which had strayed into the courtyard,and the noisy yawns and sleep-laden ejaculations of the stable-boy, whowas drawing water for the horses, all was still, for it had not yet gonefive o'clock.
But of a sudden a door opened somewhere, and a step rang out,accompanied by the jangle of spurs, and with it came a sharp, unpleasantvoice calling for its owner's horse. There was a familiar sound in thoseshrill accents that caused me to thrust my head through the casement.But I was quick to withdraw it, as I recognised in the gaily dressedlittle fellow below my old friend Malpertuis.
I know not what impulse made me draw back so suddenly. The action was asmuch the child of instinct as of the lately acquired habit of concealingmy face from the gaze of all who were likely to spread abroad the newsthat I still lived.
From behind my curtains I watched Malpertuis ride out of the yard,saying, in answer to a parting question of the landlord, who had comeupon the scene, that he would breakfast at Beaugency.
Then, as he rode down the street, he of a sudden raised his discordantvoice and sang to the accompaniment of his horse's hoofs. And the burdenof his song ran thus:
A frondeur wind Got up to-day, 'Gainst Mazarin It blows, they say.
I listened in amazement to his raven's voice.
Whither was he bound, I asked myself, and whence a haste that made himset out fasting, with an anti-cardinalist ditty on his lips, and ridetwo leagues to seek a breakfast in a village that did not hold an innwhere a dog might be housed in comfort?
Like Eugene de Canaples, he also travelled towards a goal that he littledreamt of. And so albeit the one went south and the other north,these two men were, between them, drawing together the thread of thisnarrative of mine, as anon you shall learn.
We reached Paris at dusk three days later, and we went straight to myold lodging in the Rue St. Antoine.
Coupri started and gasped upon beholding me, and not until I had cursedhim for a fool in a voice that was passing human would he believe that Iwas no ghost. He too had heard the rumour of my death.
I dispatched Michelot to the Palais Royal, where--without permitting hismotive to transpire--he was to ascertain for me whether M. de Montresorwas in Paris, whether he still dwelt at the Hotel des Cloches, and atwhat hour he could be found there.
Whilst he was away I went up to my room, and there I found a letterwhich Coupri informed me had been left by a lackey a month ago--beforethe report that I had been killed had reached Paris--and since lainforgotten. It was a delicate note, to which still hung the ghost of aperfume; there were no arms on the seal, but the writing I took to bethat of my aunt, the Duchesse de Chevreuse, and vaguely marvelling whatmotive she could have had for communicating with me, I cut the silk.
It was, indeed, from the Duchesse, but it contained no more than arequest that I should visit her at her hotel on the day following uponthat on which she had written, adding that she had pleasing news for me.
I thrust the note into my pocket with a sigh. Of what could it avail menow to present myself at her hotel? Her invitation was for a month ago.Since then she would likely enough have heard the rumour that had beencurrent, and would have ceased to expect me.
I caught myself wondering whether the news might have caused her a pangof regret, and somehow methought this possible. For of all my relatives,Madame de Chevreuse was the only one--and she was but my aunt bymarriage--who of late years had shown me any kindness, or evenrecognition. I marvelled what her pleasing news could be, and Iconcluded that probably she had heard of my difficulties, and wishedonce again to help me out of them. Well, my purse was hollow, indeed,at the moment, but I need not trouble her, since I was going somewherewhere purses are not needed--on a journey to which no expenses areattached.
In my heart, nevertheless, I blessed the gracious lady, who, for all thelies that the world may have told of her, was the kindest woman I hadknown, and the best--save one other.
I was still musing when Michelot returned with the information that M.de Montresor was to be found at the Hotel des Cloches, whither he hadgone to sup a few minutes before. Straightway I set out, bidding himattend me, and, muffled in my cloak, I proceeded at a brisk pace to theRue des Fosses St. Germain, where the lieutenant's auberge was situated.
I left Michelot in the common-room, and, preceded by the plump littlewoman who owned the house, I ascended to Montresor's chamber. I foundthe young soldier at table, and, fortunately, alone. He rose as Ientered, and as the hostess, retreating, closed the door, I doffed myhat, and letting fall my cloak revealed myself. His lips parted, and Iheard the hiss of an indrawn breath as his astonished eyes fell upon mycountenance. My laugh dispelled his doubts that I might be other thanflesh and blood--yet not his doubts touching my identity. He caught upa taper and, coming forward, he cast the light on my face for a moment,then setting the candle back upon the table, he vented his surprise inan oath or two, which was natural enough in one of his calling.
"'T is clear, Lieutenant," quoth I, as I detached my sword from thebaldrick, "that you believed me dead. Fate willed, however, that Ishould be restored to life, and so soon as I had recovered sufficientstrength to undertake the journey to Paris, I set out. I arrived an hourago, and here I am, to redeem my word of honour, and surrender the swordand liberty which you but lent me."
I placed my rapier on the table and waited for him to speak. Instead,however, he continued to stare at me for some moments, and when at lasthe did break the silence, it was to burst into a laugh that poured fromhis throat in rich, mellow peals, as he lay back in his chair.
My wrath arose. Had I travelled from Blois, and done what I deemed themost honourable deed of my life, to be laughed at for my pains by afoppish young jackanapes of his Emin
ence's guards? Something of mydispleasure must he have seen reflected on my face, for of a sudden hechecked his mirth.
"Forgive me, M. de Luynes," he gasped. "Pardieu, 't is no matter forlaughter, and albeit I laughed with more zest than courtesy, I give youmy word that my admiration for you vastly exceeds my amusement. M. deLuynes," he added, rising and holding out his hand to me, "there areliars in Paris who give you an evil name--men who laughed at me whenthey heard that I had given you leave to go on parole to St. Sulpice desReaux that night, trusting to your word of honour that you would returnif you lived. His Eminence dubbed me a fool and went near to dismissingme from his service, and yet I have now the proof that my confidence wasnot misplaced, since even though you were believed to be dead, you didnot hesitate to bring me your sword."
"Monsieur, spare me!" I exclaimed, for in truth his compliments waxed asirksome as had been his whilom merriment.
He continued, however, his laudatory address, and when it was at lastended, and he paused exhausted alike in breath and brain, it was to takeup my sword and return it to me with my parole, pronouncing me a freeman, and advising me to let men continue to think me dead, and towithdraw from France. He cut short my half-protesting thanks, andcalling the hostess bade her set another cover, whilst me he invited toshare his supper. And as we ate he again urged upon me the advice that Ishould go abroad.
"For by Heaven," he added, "Mazarin has been as a raging beast since thenews was brought him yesterday of his nephew's marriage."
"How?" I cried. "He has heard already?"
"He has, indeed; and should he learn that your flesh still walks theearth, methinks it would go worse with you than it went even with Eugenede Canaples."
In answer to the questions with which I excitedly plied him, I drew fromhim the story of how Eugene had arrived the day before in Paris, andgone straight to the Palais Royal. M. de Montresor had been on guardin the ante-chamber, and in virtue of an excitement noticeable inCanaples's bearing, coupled with the ill-odour wherein already he washeld by Mazarin, the lieutenant's presence had been commanded in theCardinal's closet during the interview--for his Eminence was never liketo acquire fame for valour.
In his exultation at what had chanced, and at the manner in whichMazarin's Chateau en Espagne had been dispelled, Canaples used littlecaution, or even discretion, in what he said. In fact, from whatMontresor told me, I gathered that the fool's eagerness to be the firstto bear the tidings to Mazarin sprang from a rash desire to gloat overthe Cardinal's discomfiture. He had told his story insolently--almostderisively--and Mazarin's fury, driven beyond bounds already by whathe had heard, became a very tempest of passion 'neath the lash ofCanaples's impertinences. And, naturally enough, that tempest had burstupon the only head available--Eugene de Canaples's--and the Cardinal hadanswered his jibes with interest by calling upon Montresor to arrest thefellow and bear him to the Bastille.
When the astonished and sobered Canaples had indignantly asked upon whatcharge he was being robbed of his liberty, the Cardinal had laughedat him, and answered with his never-failing axiom that "He who sings,pays."
"You sang lustily enough just now," his Eminence had added, "and youshall pay by lodging awhile in an oubliette of the Bastille, where youmay lift up your voice to sing the De profundis."
"Was my name not mentioned?" I anxiously inquired when Montresor hadfinished.
"Not once. You may depend that I should have remarked it. After I hadtaken Canaples away, the Cardinal, I am told, sat down, and, stilltrembling with rage, wrote a letter which he straightway dispatched tothe Chevalier Armand de Canaples, at Blois.
"No doubt," I mused, "he attributes much blame to me for what has cometo pass."
"Not a doubt of it. This morning he said to me that it was a pity yourwings had not been clipped before you left Paris, and that his misplacedclemency had helped to bring him great misfortunes. You see, therefore,M. de Luynes, that your sojourn in France will be attended with greatperil. I advise you to try Spain; 't is a martial country where a man ofthe sword may find honourable and even profitable employment."
His counsel I deemed sound. But how follow it? Then of a sudden Ibethought me of Madame de Chevreuse's friendly letter. Doubtless shewould assist me once again, and in such an extremity as this. And withthe conception of the thought came the resolution to visit her on themorrow. That formed, I gave myself up to the task of drinking M. deMontresor under the table with an abandon which had not been mine formonths. In each goblet that I drained, methought I saw Yvonne's sweetface floating on the surface of the red Armagnac; it looked now sad, nowreproachful, still I drank on, and in each cup I pledged her.