CHAPTER XLII.
THE CLOSET.
The carriage stopped at its destination, and Richelieu, getting out andtaking a key from his pocket, opened the door of a house at the cornerof the Rue de Richelieu.
"I must ask your pardon, mademoiselle," said the duke, offering his armto Bathilde, "for leading you by badly-lighted staircases and passages;but I am anxious not to be recognized, should any one meet me here. Wehave not far to go."
Bathilde had counted about twenty steps, when the duke stopped, drew asecond key from his pocket, and opened a door, then entered anantechamber, and lighted a candle at a lamp on the staircase.
"Once again I must ask pardon, mademoiselle," said the duke, "but youwill soon understand why I chose to dispense with a servant here."
It mattered little to Bathilde whether the duke had a servant or not;she entered the antechamber without replying, and the duke locked thedoor behind her.
"Now follow me," said the duke; and he walked before the young girl,lighting her with the candle which he held in his hand. They crossed adining-room and drawing-room, then entered a bedroom, where the dukestopped.
"Mademoiselle," said Richelieu, placing the candle on the chimney-piece,"I have your word that you will reveal nothing of what you are about tosee."
"I have given you my promise, and I now renew it; I should be ungratefulindeed if I were to fail."
"Well, then, be the third in our secret, which is one of love; we put itunder the safeguard of love."
And the Duc de Richelieu, sliding away a panel in the woodwork,discovered an opening in the wall, beyond which was the back of acloset, and he knocked softly three times. Presently they heard a keyturn in the lock, then saw a light between the planks, then a low voiceasked, "Is it you?" On the duke's replying in the affirmative, three ofthese planks were quietly detached, opening a means of communicationfrom one room to the other, and the duke and Bathilde found themselvesin the presence of Mademoiselle de Valois, who uttered a cry on seeingher lover accompanied by a woman.
"Fear nothing, dear Aglae," said the duke, passing into the room whereshe was, and taking her hand, while Bathilde remained motionless in herplace, not daring to move a step till her presence was explained.
"But will you tell me?" began Mademoiselle de Valois, looking atBathilde uneasily.
"Directly. You have heard me speak of the Chevalier d'Harmental, haveyou not?"
"The day before yesterday you told me that by a word he might save hisown life and compromise you all, but that he would never speak thisword."
"Well, he has not spoken, and he is condemned to death, and is to beexecuted to-morrow. This young girl loves him, and his pardon depends onthe regent. Do you understand?"
"Oh, yes!" said Mademoiselle de Valois.
"Come, mademoiselle," said the duke to Bathilde, taking her by the hand;then, turning again to the princess, "She did not know how to reach yourfather, my dear Aglae, and came to me just as I had received yourletter. I had to thank you for the good advice you gave me; and, as Iknow your heart, I thought I should please you by showing my gratitude,in offering you an opportunity to save the life of a man to whosesilence you probably owe my own."
"And you were right, duke. You are welcome, mademoiselle. What can I dofor you?"
"I wish to see the regent," said Bathilde, "and your highness can takeme to him."
"Will you wait for me, duke?" asked Mademoiselle de Valois uneasily.
"Can you doubt it?"
"Then go into the closet, lest any one should surprise you here. I willtake mademoiselle to my father, and return directly."
"I will wait," said the duke, following the instructions of the princessand entering the closet. Mademoiselle de Valois exchanged some low wordswith her lover, locked the closet, put the key in her pocket, andholding out her hand to Bathilde--
"Mademoiselle," said she, "all women who love are sisters; Armand andyou did well to rely upon me; come."
Bathilde kissed the hand she held out, and followed her. They passedthrough all the rooms facing the Palais Royal, and then, turning to theleft, entered those which looked on the Rue de Valois, among which wasthe regent's bedroom.
"We have arrived," said Mademoiselle de Valois, stopping before a door,and turning to Bathilde, who at this news trembled and turned pale; forall the strength which had sustained her for the last three or fourhours was ready to disappear just as she needed it the most.
"Oh, mon Dieu! I shall never dare to speak," said Bathilde.
"Courage, mademoiselle! enter, fall at his feet, God and his own heartwill do the rest."
At these words, seeing that the young girl still hesitated, she openedthe door, pushed Bathilde in, and closed it behind her. She then randown with a light step to rejoin Richelieu, leaving Bathilde to pleadher cause tete-a-tete with the regent.
At this unforeseen action, Bathilde uttered a low cry, and the regent,who was walking to and fro with his head bent down, raised it, andturned toward Bathilde, who, incapable of making a step in advance, fellon her knees, drew out her letter, and held it toward the regent. Theregent had bad sight; he did not understand what was going on, andadvanced toward this woman, who appeared to him in the shade as a whiteand indistinct form; but soon in that form he recognized a woman, and,in that woman, a young, beautiful, and kneeling girl.
As to the poor child, in vain she attempted to articulate a prayer.Voice and strength failing her together, she would have fallen if theregent had not held her in his arms.
"Mon Dieu! mademoiselle," said the regent, on whom the signs of griefproduced their ordinary effect, "what is the matter? What can I do foryou? Come to this couch, I beg."
"No, monseigneur, it is at your feet that I should be, for I come to aska boon."
"And what is it?"
"See first who I am, monseigneur, and then I may dare to speak."
And again Bathilde held out the letter, on which rested her only hope,to the Duc d'Orleans.
The regent took the letter, and, by the light of a candle which burnedon the chimney-piece, recognized his own writing, and read as follows:
"'MADAME--Your husband is dead for France and for me. Neither France nor I can give you back your husband; but, remember, that if ever you are in want of anything we are both your debtors.
"'Your affectionate,
"'PHILIPPE D'ORLEANS.'
"I recognize this letter perfectly as being my own," said the regent,"but to the shame of my memory I must confess that I do not know to whomit was written."
"Look at the address, monseigneur," said Bathilde, a little reassured bythe expression of benevolence on the duke's face.
"Clarice du Rocher," cried the regent, "yes, indeed, I remember now; Iwrote this letter from Spain after the death of Albert, who was killedat the battle of Almanza. I wrote this letter to his widow. How did itfall into your hands, mademoiselle?"
"Alas, monseigneur, I am the daughter of Albert and Clarice."
"You, mademoiselle! And what has become of your mother?"
"She is dead."
"Long since?"
"Nearly fourteen years."
"But happy, doubtless, and wanting nothing."
"In despair, monseigneur, and wanting everything."
"But why did she not apply to me?"
"Your highness was still in Spain."
"Oh! mon Dieu! what do you say? Continue, mademoiselle, for you cannottell how much you interest me. Poor Clarice, poor Albert, they lovedeach other so much, I remember. She could not survive him. Do you knowthat your father saved my life at Nerwinden, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, monseigneur, I know it, and that gave me courage to present myselfbefore you."
"But you, poor child, poor orphan, what became of you?"
"I, monseigneur, was taken by a friend of our family, a poor writercalled Jean Buvat."
"Jean Buvat!" cried the regent, "I know that name; he is the poorcopyist who discovered the whole conspiracy, and who some
days ago madehis demands in person. A place in the library, was it not, some arrearsdue?"
"The same, monseigneur."
"Mademoiselle," replied the regent, "it appears that those who surroundyou are destined to save me. I am thus twice your debtor. You said youhad a boon to ask of me--speak boldly, I listen to you."
"Oh, my God!" murmured Bathilde, "give me strength."
"Is it, then, a very important and difficult thing that you desire?"
"Monseigneur," said Bathilde, "it is the life of a man who has deserveddeath."
"Is it the Chevalier d'Harmental?"
"Alas, monseigneur, it is."
The regent's brow became pensive, while Bathilde, seeing the impressionproduced by her demand, felt her heart beat and her knees tremble.
"Is he your relation, your ally, your friend?"
"He is my life, he is my soul, monseigneur; I love him."
"But do you know that if I pardon him I must pardon all the rest, andthat there are some still more guilty than he is?"
"His life only, monseigneur, all I ask is that he may live."
"But if I change his sentence to a perpetual imprisonment you will neversee him again. What would become of you, then?" asked the regent.
Bathilde was obliged to support herself by the back of a chair.
"I would enter into a convent, where I could pray the rest of my lifefor you, monseigneur, and for him."
"That cannot be," said the regent.
"Why not, monseigneur?"
"Because this very day, this very hour, I have been asked for your hand,and have promised it."
"You have promised my hand, monseigneur; and to whom?"
"Read," said the regent, taking an open letter from his desk, andpresenting it to the young girl.
"Raoul's writing!" cried Bathilde; "what does this mean?"
"Read," repeated the regent.
And in a choking voice, Bathilde read the following letter:--
"'MONSEIGNEUR--I have deserved death--I know it, and I do not ask you for life. I am ready to die at the day and hour appointed; but it depends on your highness to make this death sweeter to me. I love a young girl whom I should have married if I had lived; grant that she may be my wife before I die. In leaving her forever alone and friendless in the world, let me at least have the consolation of giving her the safeguard of my name and fortune. On leaving the church, monseigneur, I will walk to the scaffold. This is my last wish, my sole desire. Do not refuse the prayer of a dying man.
"'RAOUL D'HARMENTAL.'
"Oh, monseigneur," said Bathilde, sobbing, "you see that while I thoughtof him, he thought of me. Am I not right to love him, when he loves meso much?"
"Yes," said the regent, "and I grant his request, it is just; may it, ashe says, sweeten his last moments."
"Monseigneur," cried the young girl, "is that all you grant him?"
"You see," said the regent, "he is just; he asks nothing else."
"Oh, it is cruel! it is frightful! to see him again, and lose himdirectly; his life, monseigneur, his life, I beg; and let me never seehim again--better so."
"Mademoiselle," said the regent, in a tone which admitted of no reply,and writing some lines on a paper which he sealed, "here is a letter toMonsieur de Launay, the governor of the Bastille; it contains myinstructions with regard to the prisoner. My captain of the guards willgo with you, and see that my instructions are followed."
"Oh! his life, monseigneur, his life; on my knees, and in the name ofHeaven, I implore you."
The regent rang the bell; a valet entered.
"Call Monsieur the Marquis de Lafare," he said.
"Oh, monseigneur, you are cruel," said Bathilde, rising; "at leastpermit me then to die with him. We will not be separated, even on thescaffold; we will be together, even in the tomb."
"Monsieur de Lafare, accompany mademoiselle to the Bastille," said theregent. "Here is a letter for Monsieur de Launay, read it with him, andsee that the orders it contains are punctually executed."
Then, without listening to Bathilde's last cry of despair, the Ducd'Orleans opened the door of a closet and disappeared.