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Agnes Sorel

<h4>CHAPTER XIV.</h4> Many, eager, and loud were the inquiries of the party who came to the rescue of Jean Charost, regarding his adventures since Martin had left him; but their curiosity was left unsatisfied. All he thought fit to tell them amounted merely to the facts that he had been surrounded and seized, before he was prepared to resist, by a party which appeared to consist of common robbers; that for some time his life had seemed in danger; and that, in the end, his captors, after having emptied his purse, had consented to let him go, on condition that he would carry away the child with him, and promise to take care of it for six years. He had been made to take an oath also, he stated, neither to pursue the party who had captured him, nor to give any description of their persons; and, notwithstanding the arguments of the duke's retainers, and especially of Monsieur Blaize, who sought to persuade him that an oath taken in duress was of no avail, he resolutely kept his word. The old écuyer; seemed mortified and displeased; but he did not hesitate long as to his own course; and, leaving the young secretary and Martin Grille to find their way back to the château of Beauté as they could, he dashed on into the wood with his companions, swearing that he would bring in the marauders, or know the reason why. He was disappointed, however. The place where the captors of Jean Charost had been enjoying themselves was easily found by the embers of the fire round which they had sat; but they themselves were gone, leaving nothing but an empty leathern bottle and some broken meat behind them. The tracks of the horses' feet, too, could be traced for some distance; but, after they entered the little road through the wood, they became more indistinct amid other footprints and ruts, and, although Monsieur Blaize and his companions followed them, as they thought, to the village beyond, they could obtain no information from the peasantry. No one would admit that they had seen any one pass but Matthew So-and-so, the farmer; or the priest of the parish, on his mule; or the baillie, on his horse; or some laborers with wagons; and, after a two hours' search, the party of the duke's men returned to the castle, surly and disappointed, and resolved to spare no means of drawing all the particulars from Jean Charost. In the mean time, the young secretary had returned to the little hamlet which had gathered round the foot of the château of Beauté, making Martin Grille, who was somewhat ashamed of the part he had acted in the morning's adventures, carry the infant in his arms--a task for which he was better fitted than Jean Charost himself; for, to say truth, he made no bad nurse, and one of his many good qualities was a great love for children. At the hamlet, Jean Charost paused, and went into one or two of the cottages inquiring for Angelina Moulinet; but he had to go down quite to the foot of the hill before he found the house of the person of whom he was in search. It was small, but much neater than most of the rest, and, on opening the door, he found a little scene of domestic happiness which pleased the eye. A young husband and wife, apparently tolerably well to do in life, were seated together with two children, the husband busily engaged in carving out a pair of sabots, or wooden shoes, from an old stump of willow, and the wife spinning as fast as she could get her fingers to go. The boy was, of course, teazing a cat; the little girl, still younger, was crawling about upon her hands and knees, and rolling before her a great wooden ball, probably of her father's handiwork. The fire burned bright; every thing about the place was clean and comfortable; and the whole formed a pleasant scene of calm mediocrity and rural happiness, better than all the Arcadias that ever were dreamed of. The wife rose up when the well-dressed young gentleman entered, and the husband inclined his head without leaving off his operations upon the sabot. But both looked a little surprised when Martin Grille followed his master into the cottage, carrying an infant in his arms, and Angelina Moulinet, with the kindly tact which never abandons a woman, put down her distaff and went to look at the baby, comprehending at once that some strange accident had brought it there, and willing to smooth the way for explanation. "What a beautiful little girl!" she exclaimed "Come, Pierrot, look what a beautiful child!" "Is it a little girl?" said Jean Charost, in perfect simplicity; "I am sure I did not know it." "Lord bless me! sir," cried the good woman "don't you see?" "All I see," replied Jean Charost, "is, that it is an infant which has accidentally been cast upon my hands; and I wish to know, Madame Moulinet, if you will take care of it for me?" The young woman looked at her husband, and the husband gazed with some astonishment at Jean Charost, murmuring at length, though with evident deference to his better half, "I think we have enough of our own." "I do not expect you to take charge of this child," said Jean Charost, "without proper payment. I will engage that you shall be well rewarded for your pains." "But, sir, we do not know you," said the man; and his wife in the same breath inquired, "Pray, sir, who sent you to us?" Jean Charost hesitated; and then taking the child from Martin Grille, told him to leave the cottage for a moment. The good valet obeyed; but, being blessed with the faculty of other valets, he took up a position on the outside of the house which he fancied would enable him to use both his hearing and his sight. Neither served him much, however; for, though he saw good Angelina Moulinet take the child from Jean Charost's arms, and the latter bend down his head toward herself and her husband as they stood together, as if saying a few words to them in a low tone, not one of those words reached his ear through the cottage window. He could make nothing of the gestures, either, of any of the party. Angelina raised her eyes toward the sky, as if in some surprise; and Pierrot crossed his arms upon his chest, looking grave and thoughtful. The moment after, both were seen to speak quickly together, and the result of the consultation, if it was one, was made manifest by Jean Charost leaving the child with them and coming out of the cottage door. "Now give me my horse," said the young gentleman; and then added, while Martin unfastened the bridle from the iron ring, "Remember this house, Martin; you will have to bring some money here for me to-night." "I will not forget it, sir," replied Martin Grille; and then added, with a laugh, "and I will bring the money safely, which is more than many a varlet could say of himself;" but before the last words were uttered, his young master was in the saddle and on his way toward the château. Under a sharp-pointed arch which formed the gateway, two or three of the duke's men were lounging about; and the moment Jean Charost appeared, one of them advanced to his horse's side, saying, "His highness has been inquiring for you, sir." "Is it three of the clock yet?" asked Jean Charost, somewhat anxiously. "Not two yet, sir," replied the man; and springing from his horse, the young secretary hurried on toward the apartments of the duke. He was admitted instantly, and found his princely master seated in a chair, dressed in a light-furred dressing-gown, and sadly changed in appearance, even since the preceding day. His face was very pale, his eye heavy, and his lips parched; but still he smiled with a good-humored, though not gay expression of countenance, saying, "I hope they have not recalled you from any amusement, De Brecy; for I did not think I should want you till three. But I feel ill, my friend, and there are very busy thoughts in my mind." He paused for a moment or two, looking down thoughtfully on the table, and then added, slowly, "When the brain is full--perhaps the heart too--of these eager, active, tireless emmets of the mind, called thoughts, we are glad to drive some of them forth. Alas! De Brecy, how rarely does a prince find any one to share them with!" He paused again, and Jean Charost did not venture a reply. He would have fain said, "Share them with me;" but he felt that it would be presumptuous, and he remained silent till the duke at length went on. "You are different from the rest of the people about me, De Brecy; from any one I have ever had--unhackneyed in the world--not ground down to nothing by the polishing of a court. There is something new and fresh about you; somewhat like what I once was myself. Now, what am I? By starts a wise man, by starts a fool." "Oh no, my prince," cried Jean Charost, "I can not believe that. 'Tis but temptation leads you for a moment from the path of wisdom; the sickness, as it were, of an hour. But the life is healthy; the heart is sound." The prince smiled, but went on, apparently pursuing the course of his own thoughts. "To know what is right--to do what is wrong--to feel a strong desire for good, and constantly to fall into evil, surely this is folly; surely it is a life of folly--surely it is worse than if one did not know what ought to be, as a blind man can not be charged with stupidity for running against a wall, which any other would be an idiot not to avoid." He looked up in the young secretary's face, and Jean Charost, encouraged by his tone, ventured to reply, "It wants but a strong will, sir. You have a strong will against your enemies, I know; why not have a strong will against yourself?" "I have, De Brecy--I have," replied the duke. "But my strong will against myself is just like my strong will against my enemies--very potent for the time, but easily mollified; a peace is proposed--favorable terms of compromise offered, and lo! I and myself are friends again, and all our mutual offenses forgiven." He spoke with a smile, for the figure amused his fancy; but the next instant he started up, saying, "It is time that this should come to an end. My will is now powerful, and my future course shall be different. I will take my resolutions firmly--I will shape my course--I will lay it down in writing, as if on a map, and then very shame will prevent my deviating. Sit down. De Brecy, sit down, and write what I shall dictate." Jean Charost seated himself, took some paper which was upon the table, and dipped a pen in the ink, while the duke stood by his side in such a position that he could see the sheet under his secretary's hand, on which he gazed for a minute or two with a thoughtful, half-absent look. The young man expected him every moment to begin the dictation of the resolutions which he had formed; but at length the duke said, in an altered tone, "No need of that; it would show a doubt of myself, of which I trust there is none. No, no; true resolution needs not fetters. I have resolved enough; I will begin to act. Give me that fur cloak, De Brecy, and go and see if the picture-gallery be warmed. Tell one of the varlets at the door to pile logs enough upon the fire, and to wait there. Then return to me." Without reply, Jean Charost quitted the room, and told one of the two attendants who were seated without to show him the way to the picture-gallery--an apartment he had never yet heard of. The man led him on along the corridor, to a door at no great distance, which he opened; and Jean Charost, the moment after, found himself in a long, narrow sort of hall, extending across the whole width of the building, and lighted from both ends. It was divided into three separate portions, by columns on either side, and the walls between were covered with pictures nearly to the top. To our eyes these paintings might seem poor and crude; but to the eyes of Jean Charost they were, like those which he had seen at the Hôtel d'Orleans, in Paris, perfect marvels of art. Before he paused to examine any of them, he ordered more wood to be thrown upon the fire, which was burning faintly in the great fire-place in the centre; and while the attendant had gone to bring the wood from a locker, he walked slowly toward the western end of the gallery, where, upon a little strip of white silk, suspended between the two columns, appeared in large letters the word "AMORI." On entering that portion of the gallery, he was not at all surprised, after reading the inscription, to find that it contained nothing but portraits of women. All seemed very beautiful; and though the faces were all strange to him, he had no difficulty in recognizing many of the persons whom the portraits were intended to represent, for the names, in most instances, were inscribed in large letters on the frame. A general look around filled him with astonishment, and a sort of consternation at the daring levity which had gathered together, under so meaning an inscription, the portraits of some of the most celebrated ladies in France. But he did not pause long, for the fire was soon arranged and kindled into a blaze; and he returned, as he had been directed, to the chamber of the duke. "Now," said the prince, as he entered, "is all ready?" "It is, sir," answered Jean Charost; "but the air is still chilly, and, in truth, your highness does not look well. Were it not better to pause for awhile?" "No, no," replied the Duke of Orleans, quickly, but not sharply; "let us go at once, my friend. I will put such a seal upon my resolutions, that neither I nor the world shall ever forget them." He drew the fur cloak tighter round him, and walked out of the room, leaning heavily on the young secretary's arm. As he passed, he bade both the men at the chamber-door follow; and then walking into the gallery, he turned directly to that portion of it which Jean Charost had examined. There, seating himself in a chair near the centre of the room, while the two servants stood at a little distance behind, he pointed to a picture in the extreme southwestern corner, and bade Jean Charost bring it to him. It was the picture of a girl quite young, less beautiful than many of the others, indeed, but with the peculiar beauty of youth; and when the Duke of Orleans had got it, he let the edge of the frame rest upon his knee for a moment or two, and gazed upon the face in silence. Jean Charost would have given a great deal to be able to see the duke's heart at that moment, and to trace there the emotions to which the contemplation of that picture gave rise. A smile, tender and melancholy, rested upon the prince's face; but the melancholy deepened into heavy gloom as he continued to gaze, and the smile rapidly departed. "I might spare this one," he said. "Poor thing! I might spare this one. The grave has no jealousies--" He gazed again for a single instant, and then said, "No, no--all--all. Here, take it, and put it in the fire." Turning his head, he had spoken to one of the attendants; but the man seemed so utterly confounded by the order, that he repeated the words, "On the fire?" as he received the picture from the prince's hands. "Yes--on the fire," said the duke, slowly and sternly; and then pointing to another, he added, "Give me that." Jean Charost brought it to him, when it met with the same fate, but with less consideration than the other. Another and another succeeded; but at length a larger one than the rest was pointed out by the duke, and the young secretary paused for an instant before it, utterly confounded as he read beneath the name of the Duchess of Burgundy. It fared no better than the rest, and another still was added to the flames. But then the duke paused, saying, "I am ill, my friend--I am ill. I can not go on with this. I leave the task to you. Stay here with these men, and see that every one of the pictures in this room, as far as yonder two columns on either side, be burned before nightfall, with one exception. I look to you to see the execution of an act which, if I die, will wipe out a sad stain from my memory. You hear what I say," he continued, turning to the two attendants; and was then walking toward the centre door of the gallery, when Jean Charost said, "Your highness mentioned one exception, but you did not point it out." The duke laid his hand upon his arm, led him to the side of the room, and pointed to a picture nearly in the centre, merely uttering the word "That!" On the frame was inscribed the words, "Valentine, Duchess of Orleans;" and, after having gazed at it for a moment in silence, the prince turned and quitted the room. When he was gone, Jean Charost remained for a few minutes without taking any steps to obey his command. The two men stood likewise, with their arms crossed, in a revery nearly as grave as that of the young secretary; but their thoughts were very different from his. He comprehended, in a degree, the motives upon which the prince acted, and felt how strong and vigorous must be the resolution, and yet how painful the feelings which had prompted the order he had given. Nay more, his fancy shadowed forth a thousand accessories--a thousand associations, which must have hung round, and connected themselves with that strong act of determination which his royal master had just performed--sweet memories, better feelings, young hopes, ardent passions, kindly sympathies, wayward caprices, volatile forgetfulness, sorrow, regret, and mourning, and remorse. A light, as from imagination, played round the portraits as he gazed upon them. The spirits of the dead, of the neglected, of the forgotten, seemed to animate the features on the wall, and he could not but feel a sort of painful regret that, however guilty, however vain, however foolish might be the passion which caused those speaking effigies to be ranged around, he should have been selected to consign them to that destroying element which might devour the picture, but could not obliterate the sin. At length he started from his revery, and began the appointed work, the men obeying habitually the orders they received, although doubts existed in their minds whether the prince was not suffering from temporary insanity in commanding the destruction of objects which they looked upon only as rare treasures, without the slightest conception of the associations which so often in this world render those things most estimable in the eyes of others, sad, painful, or perilous to the possessor. In about an hour all was completed; and I am not certain that what I may call the experience of that hour--the thoughts, the sensations, the fancies of Jean Charost--had not added more than one year to his mental life. Certain it is, that with a stronger and a more manly step, and with even additional earnestness of character, he walked back to the apartments of the duke, and knocked for admission. A voice, but not that of the prince, told him to come in, after a moment's delay, and he found the maître d'hôtel in conference with his master. "Come in, De Brecy," said the duke. "Leave us, Lomelini. You are his good friend, I know. But I have to speak with him on my own affairs, not on his. With them I have naught to do, and it were well for others not to meddle either. So let them understand." The maître d'hôtel retired, bowing low; and, after remaining a moment or two in thought, the duke raised his eyes to the young secretary's face, saying, in a somewhat languid tone, "Were you ever in this part of the country before, De Brecy?" "Never, your highness," replied Jean Charost. "You have met with an adventure in the wood, I hear," said the duke, "and did not tell me of it." "I did not think it right to intrude such subjects on your highness," answered the young man. "Had there been any thing to lead to it, I should have told you at once." "Well, well," said the duke, "you shall tell me hereafter;" and then he added, somewhat irritably, "they have broken through my thoughts with these tales. I want you to do me a service." "Your highness has but to command," said Jean Charost. "I am ill, De Brecy," said the duke. "I feel more so than I ever did before; indeed, I have been rarely ill, and, perhaps--But that matters not. Whatever be the cause, I have a strange feeling upon me, a sort of presentiment that my life will not be very long extended. You heard the announcement that was made to me by man or shadow--I know not, and care not what--in the convent of the Celestins. But it is not that which has produced this impression, for I had forgotten it within an hour; but I feel ill; and I see not why there should not be influences in external and invisible things which, speaking to the ear of the soul, without a voice, announce the approach of great changes in our state of being, and warn us to prepare. However that may be, the feeling is strong upon me. I have ordered an imperial notary to be sent for, in order that I may make my will. In it I will show the world how I can treat my enemies--and my friends also; for I may show my forgetfulness of the injuries of the one, without failing in my gratitude to the other." He leaned his head upon his hand for a moment or two, and then added, "I long earnestly to see my wife. Yet from causes that matter not to mention, I do not wish to send her a long letter, telling her of my state and of my feelings. I have, therefore, written a few lines, merely saying I am indisposed here at Beauté. I know that they will induce her to set out immediately from Blois, where she now is, and it must be the task of the messenger to prepare her mind for the changes that she must, and the changes that she may find here. Do you understand me?" "I think I do, sir," replied Jean Charost, "fully." "I should wish him, also," said the duke, "in case my own lips should not be able to speak the words, to tell her, that whatever may have been my faults, however passion, or vanity, or folly may have misled me, I have ever retained a deep and affectionate regard for her virtues, her tenderness, and her gentleness. I could say more--much more--I will say more if ever I behold her again. But let her be assured that my last prayer shall be to call down the blessing of God upon her head, and entreat his protection for her and for our children." While he spoke, he continued to hold a sealed letter in his hand, and gazed at Jean Charost very earnestly. Nevertheless, he seemed to hesitate, and when he paused, he looked down upon the paper, turning it round and round, without speaking, for several minutes. Then, however, as if he had decided at length, he looked up suddenly, saying, "There is none I can send but Lomelini or yourself. Joigni is a rough brute, though bold and honest. Blaize has no heart, and very little understanding. Monluc would frighten her to death; for were he to see me now, he would think me dead already. There is none but you or Lomelini then. In some respects, it were better to send him. He is of mature age, of much experience, accurate and skillful in his dealings and passably honest; not without heart either, affectionately attached to her, as well he may be, brought up and promoted by her father; but there is in him a world of Italian cunning, a great deal of cowardly timidity, and an all-absorbing, sense of his own interests, the action of which we can never altogether count upon. Besides, she loves him not. I know it--I am sure of it, although she is too gentle to complain. He came hither as her servant. He found it more for his interest to be mine. She can not love him. But enough of that. I have conceived a regard for you, De Brecy, and you will find proofs of it. It is not a small one that I send you on this mission. There is something in the freshness of your character and in the frankness of your nature which will win confidence, and I wish you to set off at once for Blois. Bear this letter to the duchess, tell her in what state I am--but kindly, gently--and accompany her back hither. What men will you want with you? The country is somewhat disturbed, but I do not think there is much danger." "One who knows the way will suffice, my lord," replied De Brecy. "A small party may pass more easily than a large one. I will only beg a stout horse from your highness's stables, which my man can lead, and which may both carry what we need by the way, and serve me in case of any accident to my own. I will undertake to deliver the letter, if I live to the end of the journey." "Perhaps you are right in choosing small attendance," said the duke. "I will send you a stout fellow to accompany you, who knows every rood of the road. He is but a courier, but he makes no bad man-at-arms in case of need; and, though I would not have you go fully armed, I think it were as well if you wore a secret; beneath your ordinary dress." "I have no arms of any kind with me but my sword and dagger, sir," replied Jean Charost, "and I do not think I shall need more." "Yes--yes, you may," replied the duke. "Stay; I will write a word to Lomelini. He will procure you all that is needful;" and, drawing some paper toward him, the duke wrote, with a hand which shook a good deal, the following words: "Signor Lomelini, put Armand Chauvin under the orders of Monsieur De Brecy upon a journey which he has to take for me. Command the armorer to furnish him with what ever arms he may require, and the chief écuyer; to let him take from the stable what horses he may select, with the exception of gray Clisson, the Arab jennet, my own hackney, and my three destriers.     Orleans." "There," said the duke, "there. Here is an order on the treasurer, too, for your expenses; and now, when will you set out?" "In an hour," replied Jean Charost. "Can you get ready so soon?" the prince inquired. "I think so, your highness," replied the young secretary. "I shall be ready myself, if the two men are prepared." "So be it, then," said the Duke of Orleans. "I will go lie down on my bed again, for I am weary in heart and limb." <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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