An Enemy to the King

  CHAPTER III.

  THE STRANGE REQUEST OF MLLE. D'ARENCY

  I was disappointed in the interview that I had with Mlle. d'Arency inthe gardens of the Tuileries, the next day. I saw her for only a fewminutes, and then within sight of other of Catherine's ladies. AlthoughI lost nothing of the ground I had taken, neither did I gain anythingfurther. Afterward, at court receptions and _fetes_, and, sometimes, inthe palace galleries, when she was off duty, I contrived to meet her.She neither gave me opportunities nor avoided me. All the progress thatI made was in the measure of my infatuation for her. When I begged for ameeting at which we might not be surrounded by half the court, shesmiled, and found some reason to prevent any such interview in the nearfuture. So, if I had carried things very far at our first meeting in theLouvre, I now paid for my exceptional fortune by my inability to carrythem a step further.

  Thus matters went for several days, during which the assertion of DeRilly was proven true,--that my duties as a member of the French Guardswould leave me some time for pleasure. Thanks to De Quelus, and to hisenemy, Bussy d'Amboise, I made acquaintances both in the King's followingand in that of the King's brother, the Duke of Anjou. De Rilly made meknown to many who belonged to neither camp, and were none the worse forthat. Our company lodged in the Faubourg St. Honore, but I led the lifeof a gentleman of pleasure, when off duty, and, as such, I had a privatelodging within the town, near the Louvre, more pretentious than thewhitewashed chamber in the Rue St. Denis. I drank often in cabarets,became something of a swaggerer, and something of a fop,--though neverdescending to the womanishness of the King's minions,--and did not allowmy great love affair, which I never mentioned save in terms of mystery,to hinder me from the enjoyment of lesser amours of transient duration.At this time everybody was talking of the feud between the King'sfavorites and the followers of the Duke of Anjou. The King's minionsopenly ridiculed Anjou for his ungainliness, which was all the greaterfor his look of settled discontent and resentment. His faithful andpugnacious Bussy retaliated by having his pages dress like the King'sminions,--with doublets of cloth of gold, stiff ruffs, and greatplumes,--and so attend him at the Twelfth Day _fetes_. The minions, intheir turn, sought revenge on Bussy by attacking him, on the followingnight, while he was returning from the Louvre to his lodgings. He eludedthem, and the next morning he accused M. de Grammont of having led theambuscade. De Quelus then proposed that all the King's gentlemen shouldmeet all those of the Duke in a grand encounter to the death. The Duke'sfollowers gladly accepted the challenge. Three hundred men on each sidewould have fought, had not the King resolutely forbidden the duel. DeQuelus, that night, led a number of gentlemen in an attack on Bussy'slodgings. Bussy and his followers made a stout resistance, the tumultbecoming so great that the Marechal de Montmorency called out the ScotchGuard to clear the street in front of Bussy's house; and it was time.Several gentlemen and servants were lying in their blood; and some ofthese died of their wounds.

  It was openly known, about the court, that the Duke of Anjou held theKing to be privy to these attacks on Bussy, and was frightfully enragedthereby; and that the King, in constant fear of the Duke's departure tojoin the Huguenots,--which event would show the King's inability toprevent sedition even in the royal family, and would give the Guise partyanother pretext to complain of his incompetence,--would forcibly obstructthe Duke's going.

  It was this state of affairs that made Catherine de Medici again take upher abode in the Louvre, that she might be on the ground in the event ofa family outbreak, which was little less probable to occur at night thanin the daytime. She had lately lived part of the time in her new palaceof the Tuileries, and part of the time in her Hotel des Filles Repenties,holding her council in either of these places, and going to the Louvredaily for the signature of the King to the documents of her ownfabrication. At this time, Mlle. d'Arency was one of the ladies of theQueen-mother's bedchamber, and so slept in the Louvre. What should I bebut such a fool as, when off duty, to pass certain hours of the night ingazing up at the window of my lady's chamber, as if I were a lover in anItalian novel! Again I must beg you to remember that I was onlytwenty-one, and full of the most fantastic ideas. I had undertaken anepic love affair, and I would omit none of the picturesque details thatexample warranted.

  Going, one evening in February, to take up my post opposite the Louvre, Isuddenly encountered a gentleman attended by two valets with torches. Irecognized him as De Noyard, who had twice or thrice seen me about thepalaces, but had never spoken to me. I was therefore surprised when, onthis occasion, he stopped and said to me, in a low and polite tone:

  "Monsieur, I have seen you, once or twice, talking with M. Bussyd'Amboise, and I believe that, if you are not one of his intimates, you,at least, wish him no harm."

  "You are right, monsieur," I said, quite mystified.

  "I am no friend of his," continued M. de Noyard, in his cold,dispassionate tone, "but he is a brave man, who fights openly, and, sofar, he is to be commended. I believe he will soon return from theTuileries, where he has been exercising one of the horses of the Duke ofAnjou. I have just come from there myself. On the way, I espied, withoutseeming to see them, a number of the gentlemen of the King waiting behindthe pillars of the house with a colonnade, near the Porte St. Honore."

  "One can guess what that means."

  "So I thought. As for me, I have more important matters in view thaninterfering with the quarrels of young hot-heads; but I think that thereis yet time for Bussy d'Amboise to be warned, before he starts to returnfrom the Tuileries."

  "M. de Noyard, I thank you," I said, with a bow of genuine respect, andin a moment I was hastening along the Rue St. Honore.

  I understood, of course, the real reasons why De Noyard himself had notgone back to warn Bussy. Firstly, those in ambush would probably havenoticed his turning back, suspected his purpose, and taken means todefeat it. Secondly, he was a man from whom Bussy would have acceptedneither warning nor assistance; yet he was not pleased that any brave manshould be taken by surprise, and he gave me credit for a similar feeling.I could not but like him, despite my hidden suspicion that there wassomething between Mlle. d'Arency and him.

  I approached the house with the colonnade, feigning carelessness, as if Iwere returning to my military quarters in the faubourg. The Porte St.Honore was still open, although the time set for its closing was past.

  Suddenly a mounted figure appeared in the gateway, which, notwithstandingthe dusk, I knew, by the way the rider sat his horse, to be that ofBussy. I was too late to warn him; I could only give my aid.

  Three figures rushed out from beneath the supported upper story of thehouse, and made for Bussy with drawn swords. With a loud oath he reinedback his horse on its haunches, and drew his own weapon, with which heswept aside the two points presented at him from the left. One of thethree assailants had planted himself in front of the horse, to catch itsbridle, but saw himself now threatened by Bussy's sword, which moved withthe swiftness of lightning. This man thereupon fell back, but stood readyto obstruct the forward movement of the horse, while one of the othertwo ran around to Bussy's right, so that the rider might be attacked,simultaneously on both sides.

  This much I had time to see before drawing my sword and running up toattack the man on the horseman's left, whom I suddenly recognized as DeQuelus. At the same instant I had a vague impression of a fourthswordsman rushing out from the colonnade, and, before I could attain myobject, I felt a heavy blow at the base of my skull, which seemedalmost to separate my head from my neck, and I fell forward, intodarkness and oblivion.

  I suppose that the man, running to intercept me, had found a thrust lesspracticable than a blow with the hilt of a dagger.

  When I again knew that I was alive, I turned over and sat up. Severalmen--bourgeois, vagabonds, menials, and such--were standing around,looking down at me and talking of the affray. I looked for Bussy and DeQuelus, but did not see either. At a little distance away was anothergroup, and people walked from that group to mine, an
d _vice versa._

  "Where is M. Bussy?" I asked.

  "Oho, this one is all right!" cried one, who might have been a clerk or astudent; "he asks questions. You wish to know about Bussy, eh? You oughtto have seen him gallop from the field without a scratch, while hisenemies pulled themselves together and took to their heels."

  "What is that, over there?" I inquired, rising to my feet, anddiscovering that I was not badly hurt.

  "A dead man who was as much alive as any of us before he ran to help M.Bussy. It is always the outside man who gets the worst of it, merely fortrying to be useful. There come the soldiers of the watch, after thefight is over."

  I walked over to the other group and knelt by the body on the ground. Itwas that of a gentleman whom I had sometimes seen in Bussy's company. Hewas indeed dead. The blood was already thickening about the hole that asword had made in his doublet.

  The next day the whole court was talking of the wrath of the Duke ofAnjou at this assault upon his first gentleman-in-waiting. I was ashamedof having profited by the influence of De Quelus, who, I found, had notrecognized me on the previous evening. Anjou's rage continued deep. Heshowed it by absenting himself from the wedding of Saint-Luc, one of DeQuelus's companions in the King's favor and in the attack on Bussy.Catherine, knowing how the King's authority was weakened by the squabblesbetween him and his brother, took the Duke out to Vincennes for a walk inthe park and a dinner at the chateau, that his temper might cool. Shepersuaded him to show a conciliatory spirit and attend the marriage ballto be held that night in the great hall of the Louvre. This was more thanshe could persuade Marguerite to do, who accompanied mother and son toVincennes, sharing the feelings of the Duke for three reasons,--her lovefor him, her hatred for her brother, the King, and her friendship forBussy d'Amboise. It would have been well had the Duke been, like hissister, proof against his mother's persuasion. For, when he arrived atthe ball, he was received by the King's gentlemen with derisive looks,and one of them, smiling insolently in the Duke's piggish, pockmarkedface, said, "Doubtless you have come so late because the night is mostfavorable to your appearance."

  Suppose yourself in the Duke's place, and imagine his resentment. Heturned white and left the ball. Catherine must have had to use her utmostpowers to keep peace in the royal family the next day.

  On the second morning after the ball, I heard, from De Rilly, that theKing had put his brother under arrest, and kept him guarded in the Duke'sown apartment, lest he should leave Paris and lead the rebellion whichthe King had to fear, not only on its own account, but because of thefurther disrepute into which it would bring him with his people. TheKing, doubtless, soon saw, or was made to see, that this conduct towardshis brother--who had many supporters in France and was then affianced toQueen Elizabeth of England--would earn only condemnation; for, on the dayafter the arrest, he caused the court to assemble in Catherine'sapartments, and there De Quelus went ironically through the form of anapology to the Duke, and a reconciliation with Bussy. The exaggeratedembrace which Bussy gave De Quelus made everybody laugh, and showed thatthis peace-making was not to be taken seriously. Soon after it, Bussyd'Amboise and several of his followers left Paris.

  The next thing I saw, which had bearing on the difference between theKing and Monsieur his brother, was the procession of penitents in whichMonsieur accompanied the King through the streets, after the hollowreconciliation. I could scarcely convince myself that thesanctimonious-looking person, in coarse penitential robe, heading theprocession through the mire and over the stones of Paris, from shrine toshrine, was the dainty King whom I had beheld in sumptuous raiment in thegallery of the Louvre. The Duke of Anjou, who wore ordinary attire,seemed to take to this mummery like a bear, ready to growl at any moment.His demeanor was all that the King's gentlemen could have needed as asubject for their quips and jokes.

  Two evenings after this, I was drinking in the public room of an inn,near my lodgings in the town, when a young gentleman named Malerain, who,though not a Scot, was yet one of the Scotch bodyguard, sat down at mytable to share a bottle with me.

  "More amusement at the palace," he said to me. "To think that, any one ofthese nights, I may be compelled to use force against the person of theKing's brother, and that some day he may be King! I wonder if he willthen bear malice?"

  "What is the new trouble at the Louvre?" I asked.

  "It is only the old trouble. Monsieur has been muttering again, Isuppose, and this, with the fact that Bussy d'Amboise keeps so quietoutside of Paris, has led the King to fear that Monsieur has planned toescape to the country. At least, it has been ordered that every member ofthe Duke's household, who does not have to attend at his retiring, mustleave the palace at night; and Messieurs de l'Archant, De Losses, and theother captains, have received orders from the King that, if Monsieurattempts to go out after dark, he must be stopped. Suppose it becomes myduty to stop him? That will be pleasant, will it not? To make it worse, Iam devoted to a certain damsel who is devoted to Queen Marguerite, who isdevoted to Monsieur, her brother. And here I am inviting misfortune,too, by drinking wine on the first Friday in Lent. I ought to havefollowed the example of the King, who has been doing penance all day inthe chapel of the Hotel de Bourbon."

  "Let us hope that the King will be rewarded for his penance by thesubmission of Monsieur. I, for one, hope that if Monsieur attempts to getaway, he will run across some Scotchman of the Guard who will not scrupleto impede a prince of France. For if he should lead a Huguenot armyagainst the King, I, as one of the Guards, might be called on to opposemy fellow-Protestants."

  "Oh, the Duke does not wish to join the Huguenots. All he desires is togo to the Netherlands, where a throne awaits him if he will do a littlefighting for it."

  "I fear he would rather revenge himself on the King for what he has hadto endure at court."

  Presently Malerain left to go on duty at the Louvre, and soon I followed,to take up my station in sight of the window where Mlle. d'Arency slept.The night, which had set in, was very dark, and gusts of cold wind cameup from the Seine. The place where, in my infatuation and affectation, Ikept my lover's watch, was quite deserted. The Louvre loomed up giganticbefore me, the lights gleaming feebly in a few of its many windows,serving less to relieve its sombre aspect than to suggest unknown, and,perhaps, sinister doings within.

  I laugh at myself now for having maintained those vigils by night beneatha court lady's window; but you will presently see that, but for thisboyish folly, my body would have been sleeping in its grave these manyyears past, and I should have never come to my greatest happiness.

  Suddenly my attention was attracted to another window than that on whichI had fixed my gaze. This other window appertained to the apartments ofthe King's sister, Queen Marguerite, and what caused me to transfer myattention to it was the noise of its being opened. Then a head was thrustout of it,--the small and graceful head of Marguerite herself. She lookeddown at the moat beneath, and in either direction, and apparently saw noone, I being quite in shadow; then she drew her head in.

  Immediately a rope was let down into the moat, whose dry bed was aboutfive times a tall man's length below the window, which was on the secondstory. Out of the window came a man of rather squat figure, who lethimself boldly and easily down the rope. As soon as he had reached thebed of the moat, he was followed out of the window and down the rope by asecond man, who came bunglingly, as if in great trepidation. This person,in his haste, let go the rope before he was quite down, but landed onhis feet. Then a third figure came out from the chamber and down thecable, whereupon Marguerite's head again appeared in the opening, and Icould see the heads of two waiting-women behind her. But the Queen ofNavarre manifestly had no intention of following the three men. These nowclambered up the side of the moat, and the one who had been first downturned and waved her a silent adieu, which she returned with a gracefulgesture of her partly bare arm. The three men then rapidly plunged intoone of the abutting streets and were gone. All this time I stood inactiveand unobserved.
>
  Marguerite remained at the window to cast another look around. Suddenly,from out the darkness at the base of the Louvre, as if risen from thevery earth at the bottom of the moat, sprang the figure of a man, whostarted toward the guard-house as if his life depended on his speed.Marguerite drew her head in at once with a movement of great alarm. Aninstant later the rope was drawn up and the window closed.

  Two conjectures came into my head, one after the other, each in a flash.The one was that Marguerite had availed herself of the fraternal quarrelthat occupied the King's attention to plan an escape to her husband, KingHenri of Navarre, and that these three men had gone from a consultationin her apartments to further the project. The other conjecture was thatthey were but some of Monsieur's followers who had transgressed the newrule, requiring their departure from the palace at nightfall, and hadtaken this means of leaving to avoid discovery. If the former conjectureembodied the truth, my sympathies were with the plot; for it littlepleased me that the wife of our Huguenot leader should remain at theFrench court, a constant subject of scandalous gossip. If the secondguess was correct, I was glad of an opportunity to avert, even slight,trouble from the wilful but charming head of Marguerite. In either case,I might serve a beautiful woman, a queen, the wife of a Huguenot king.Certainly, if that man, paid spy or accidental interloper, should reachthe guard-house with information that three men had left the Louvre bystealth, the three men might be overtaken and imprisoned, and greatannoyance brought to Marguerite. All this occupied my mind but aninstant. Before the man had taken ten steps, I was after him.

  He heard me coming, looked around, saw my hand already upon mysword-hilt, and shouted, "The guard! Help!" I saw that, to avoid adisclosure, I must silence him speedily; yet I dared not kill him, for hemight be somebody whose dead body found so near the palace would lead toendless investigations, and in the end involve Marguerite, for supposethat the King had set him to watch her? Therefore I called to him, "Stopand face me, or I will split you as we run!"

  The man turned at once, as if already feeling my sword-point entering hisback. Seeing that I had not even drawn that weapon, he, himself, drew adagger and raised it to strike. But I was too quick and too long of armfor him. With my gloved fist I gave him a straight blow on the side ofthe chin, and he dropped like a felled tree, at the very moat's edge,over which I rolled him that he might recover in safety from the effectsof the shock.

  I knew that, when he should awake, he would not dare inform the guard,for the three men would then be far away, and he would have no evidenceto support his story. He would only put himself in danger of havingfabricated a false accusation against the King's sister.

  I deemed it best to go from the vicinity of the Louvre at once, and I didso, with a last wistful look at the windows behind which Mlle. d'Arencymight or might not be reposing. I did not reappear there until the nextmorning. The first person I then met was Malerain, who was coming fromthe church of St. Germain l'Auxerrois, where he had been making up forprevious neglect of devotions.

  "Well," I said, as I stood before him, and twisted my up-shootingmustaches, in unconscious imitation of him, "I trust you found yourquarter on duty last night an easy one. You must thank me for saving yousome labor."

  "What do you mean?" he asked, with a look of sudden interest.

  "Nothing, only that you might have been called on to give chase to someflying bird or other, if I had not knocked down a rascal who was runningto inform the guard."

  "And you saw the bird fly?" he said, with increasing astonishment.

  "From an opening in that great cage," I replied, looking towardsthe Louvre.

  "Then I, for myself, am glad you knocked down the said rascal who wouldhave made falcons of us to bring the bird down. But be more cautious.Suppose what you did should reach the ears of the King?"

  "Why should the King concern himself?"

  "Monsieur, is it possible that you don't know that the bird that flewfrom the Louvre last night was the Duke of Anjou?"

  It was now my turn to stare in astonishment.

  "But," I said, "what use for him to leave the palace? There would be thegates of Paris to pass."

  "There is more than one way to cross the fortifications of Paris,especially when one has such an ally as Bussy d'Amboise, free, to arrangematters. Monsieur is at this moment certainly on his way to somestronghold of his own. The King is mad with rage. Queen Marguerite islooking innocent and astonished, but I'll wager she had a hand in thisevasion. My friend, I am under obligations to you!"

  "How?"

  "Why, since Queen Marguerite undoubtedly rejoices at her favoritebrother's escape, and you helped to make it good, she owes you gratitude.So do all her maids, who, naturally, share in her feelings and benefit byher joy. Now, that gratitude extends of course to your friends, of whom Iam one. Therefore a good turn is due me from one of those maids inparticular, and for that I am obliged to you!"

  I laughed at this fantastic extension of a debt of gratitude."Doubtless," I said; "but since neither Marguerite nor the maid knowsanything about my share in the matter, I don't see how you are going tocollect the debt."

  Malerain said nothing, but there was already that in his mind which,absurd as it might seem at that time, was to save me when death shouldrise threateningly about me on every side. It is a world in which muchcomes from little.

  I was somewhat agitated at realizing that I had been the means of aidingan escape which might result in opposing the troops of the King to thoseof certain Huguenot leaders; but this thought was suddenly driven from mymind by a sight which caused me to leave Malerain abruptly, and make forone of the streets that led from the Louvre to the midst of the town.

  It was Mlle. d'Arency, mounted on a plumed horse, with tassellatedtrappings, which was led by a young equerry who wore Catherine's colors,and followed by two mounted lackeys in similar livery. Beside her rodethe stout, elderly woman who usually attended her. Mlle. d'Arency wore amask of black velvet, but that could not conceal her identity from eyesto which every line of her pretty head, every motion of her gracefulperson, had become familiar in actual contemplation and in dreams. Hercloak and gown were, alike, of embroidered velvet of the color of redwine, as was the velvet toque which sat perched on her dark brown hair.

  I followed her at some distance, resolved to find an opportunity for aseemingly accidental meeting. I supposed that she was going to visit someof the shops,--perhaps for the Queen-mother, perhaps for herself.

  She led me on and on, until I began to wonder what could be herdestination. She avoided the streets of fine shops, such as werepatronized by the court, skirted market-places, and continued, in ageneral easterly direction, until she had crossed both the Rue St. Denisand the Rue St. Martin. At last, turning out of the Rue St. Antoine, shereached, by a little street lined with bakeries, a quiet square before asmall church, of which I never even learned the name. She and the stoutwoman dismounted, and entered the church, leaving her male attendantsoutside with the horse.

  "Oho," I mused, stopping at the door of a pastry-cook's at the placewhere the little street joined the square; "she chooses an obscure placefor her devotions. Evidently she prefers to mingle solitude with them, soI must not disturb her."

  I decided, therefore, to wait at the pastry-cook's till she should comeout, and then to encounter her as if by chance. I would have, at least, aword in payment for having come so far afoot.

  The pastry-cook must have been convinced of two things before Mlle.d'Arency came out of church: first, that his fortune was made if this newcustomer, myself, should only continue to patronize him; second, thatthere existed, at least, one human stomach able to withstand unlimitedquantities of his wares.

  I stood back in the shop, devouring one doughy invention after another,with my ear alert for the sound of her horse's hoofs on the stones. Atlast it occurred to me that she might have left the square by some otherstreet. I made for the door of the shop to look. As I did so, a manrapidly passed the shop, going from the square towards the Ru
e St.Antoine. Was not that figure known to me? I hastened to the street. Myfirst glance was towards the church. There stood her horse, and her threeattendants were walking up and down in the sunlight. Then I looked afterthe man; I thought that the figure looked like that of De Noyard.

  He disappeared into the Rue St. Antoine, having given me no opportunityto see his face. I would have followed, to make sure, roused into anintolerable jealousy at the idea of a secret meeting between Mlle.d'Arency and him, but that I now heard the full melodious voice of thelady herself. Looking around, I saw her on the steps of the church, withher middle-aged companion. At that instant her eyes met mine.

  I advanced, with an exaggerated bow, sweeping the stones of the streetwith the plumes of my hat.

  "So it is true!" I said, making no effort to control my agitation, andrestraining my voice only that the lackeys might not hear; "you lovethat man!"

  She looked at me steadily for a moment, and then said, "Do you mean M.de Noyard?"

  "Ah, you admit it!"

  "I admit nothing. But if I did love him, what right would you have tocall me to account?"

  "The right of a man who adores you, mademoiselle."

  "That is no right at all. A man's right concerning a woman must bederived from her own actions. But come inside the church, monsieur."

  She made a gesture to her attendants, and reentered the church. Ifollowed her. We stood together before the font in the dim light.

  "And now," she continued, facing me, "suppose I grant that I have soacted as to give you a right to question me; what then? Is it my faultthat you have followed me this morning? Is it, then, any more my faultthat I have been followed, also, by M. de Noyard?"

  "But he must have been here before you."

  "What does that prove? A score of people in the Louvre knew yesterdaythat I was coming to this church to-day."

  "But so deserted a church,--so out of the way! Who would come here fromthe Louvre but for a tryst?"

  She smiled, indulgently. "Can a thing have no cause except the obviousone?" she said. "I visit this church once every month, because, obscurethough it be, it is associated with certain events in the history of myancestors."

  "But," I went on, though beginning to feel relieved, "if M. de Noyard wasthrusting his presence on you, why did he leave before you did?"

  "Probably because he knew that I would not leave the church while heremained to press his company upon me outside."

  The low tones that we had to use, on account of our surroundings, gaveour conversation an air of confidence and secrecy that was delicious tome; and now her voice fell even lower, when she added:

  "I take the pains to explain these things to you, monsieur, because I donot wish you to think that I have intrigues;" and she regarded me fixedlywith her large gray eyes, which in the dimness of the place were darkerand more lustrous than usual.

  Delightfully thrilled at this, I made to take her hand and stoop to kissit, but stopped for a last doubt.

  "Mademoiselle," I said, "I think you only the most adorable woman in theworld. But there is one thing which has cost me many a sleepless hour,many a jealous surmise. If I could be reassured as to the nature of yourerrand that night when I first saw you--"

  "Oh!" she laughed, "I was coming from an astrologer's."

  "But you were not coming from the direction of Ruggieri's house."

  "There are many astrologers in Paris, besides Ruggieri. Although theQueen-mother relies implicitly on him, one may sometimes get a morepleasing prediction from another; or, another may be clear on a point onwhich he is vague."

  "But the hour--"

  "I took the time when I was not on duty, and he kept me late. It was fora friend that I visited the astrologer,--a friend who was required in thepalace all that evening. The astrologer had to be consulted that night,as my friend wished to be guided in a course that she would have to takethe next morning. Now, Monsieur Curiosity, are you satisfied?"

  This time I took her hand and pressed my lips upon it.

  She was silent for a moment, noting the look of admiration on my face.Then, quickly, and in little more than a whisper, she said:

  "I have answered your questions, though not admitting your right to askthem. Would you know how to gain that right?"

  "Tell me!" I said, my heart beating rapidly with elation.

  "Challenge M. de Noyard, and kill him!"

  I stared in astonishment.

  "Now you may know whether or not I love him," she added.

  "But, mademoiselle,--why--"

  "Ah, that is the one thing about which I must always refuse to bequestioned! I ask you this service. Will you grant it?"

  "If he has given you offence," I said, "certainly I will seek him atonce."

  "Not a word of me is to be said between you! He must not know that I havespoken to you."

  "But a man is not to be killed without reason."

  "A pretext is easily invented."

  "Certainly,--a pretext to hide the cause of a quarrel from the world. Butthe real cause ought to be known to both antagonists."

  "I shall not discuss what ought or ought not to be. I ask you, will youfight this man and try to kill him? I request nothing unusual,--men arekilled every day in duels. You are a good swordsman; Bussy d'Amboisehimself has said so. Come! will you do this?" She looked up at me with aslight frown of repressed petulance.

  "If you will assure me that he has affronted you, and permit me to lethim know, privately, the cause of my quarrel."

  "Oh!" she exclaimed, with irritation, "must a lady give a hundred reasonswhen she requests a service of a gentleman?"

  "One sufficient reason, when it is a service like this."

  "Well, I shall give none. I desire his death,--few gentlemen would ask afurther reason."

  "I had not thought you so cruel, mademoiselle, as to desire the deathof any man."

  "God forbid that I should desire the death of any other man! So,monsieur, I must understand that you refuse to serve me in this?"

  Her contemptuous look made me sigh. "Can you not see, mademoiselle, thatto resolve deliberately and secretly on a man's death, and withpremeditation to create a pretext for a challenge, is little better thanassassination?"

  "A fine excuse to avoid risking your life!"

  Again I had to endure a look of profound scorn from her.

  "Mademoiselle," I replied, patiently, "I would that you might see howready I am to fight when an affront is given me or some one needs adefender."

  "Oh!" she said, with an ironical smile. "Then to show yourself a lionagainst De Noyard, you require only that he shall affront you, or thatsome one shall need a defender against him! Suppose that _I_ should everbe in such need?"

  "You know that in your defence I would fight an army."

  Her smile now lost its irony, and she assumed a look of conciliation,which I was both surprised and rejoiced to behold.

  "Well, monsieur, it is pleasant to know that, if you will not take theoffensive for me, you will, at least, act readily on the defensive ifthe occasion comes."

  Much relieved at the turn the conversation had taken, I now undertook tocontinue it to my advantage. After some bantering, maintained with gaietyon her part, she said that she must return to the Louvre. Then, as shewould not have me accompany her in the streets, I begged her to appointanother meeting. She evaded my petition at first, but, when I took herhand and refused to release it until she should grant my request, shesaid, after a little submissive shrug of her shoulders:

  "Very well. Follow me, at a distance, from this church, and observe ahouse before which I shall stop for a moment as if to adjust my cloak. Itis a house that has been taken by a friend of mine, one of theQueen-mother's ladies. I shall be there tomorrow afternoon."

  "Alas! To-morrow I shall be on duty till six in the evening."

  "Then come at seven. Knock three times on the street door." And with thatshe slipped her hand from mine, and hastened lightly out of the church. Istood alone by the font, delighte
d and bewildered. There was so much tomystify me that I did not even search my mind for explanations. I thoughtmy happiness about to be attained, and left it for the future toexplain,--as it did!