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Agnes Sorel

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<h4>CHAPTER XVIII.</h4> Martin Grille looked at Armand Chauvin, and Armand Chauvin at Martin Grille, but neither spoke; for Armand was by nature somewhat taciturn, and the other, though he did not venture in the presence of the chevaucheur; to put his ear or his eye to the keyhole, remained listening as near the door as possible, with a good deal of apprehension it is true, but still more curiosity. The conversation, however, between Jean Charost and the stranger commenced in a low tone, and gave nothing to the hall but an indistinct murmur of voices. Very speedily, however, the tones began to be raised; Jean Charost himself spoke angrily; but another voice almost drowned his, pouring forth a torrent of invectives, not upon him, it would seem; for the only sentence completely heard showed that some other person was referred to. "There is every sort of villain in the world," cried the voice; "and he is a villain of the damnedest and the blackest dye. The cut-throat and the thief, the swindler, the traitor, are all scoundrels of their kind; but what is he who--" The voice fell again; and Martin Grille, turning to his companion, grasped his arm, saying, "Go in--go in. He will do him some mischief, I am very much afraid." "I am not so much accustomed to be afraid, either for myself or for other people," answered Chauvin. "The young gentleman will call out if he wants me." Almost at the same moment, without the sound of any opening door from the street, the astrologer entered the room with a hurried step and somewhat disturbed look. "Ha! my friend," he said, as his eyes fell on Martin Grille. "Where is your young master?" "Within there," replied Martin, "with that other devil of a man. Don't you hear how loud they are talking?" Without reply or ceremony, the astrologer opened the door leading into the other room, entered and closed it again; but during the brief moment of his passing in both Martin and Chauvin caught a sight of the figures within. Jean Charost was standing with his arms crossed upon his chest, in an attitude of stern and manly dignity which neither of them had ever before seen him assume, while the stranger, as if exhausted by the burst of passion to which he had given way, was cast negligently on a seat, his arm resting on a table, and his head bowed down with the gray locks falling loose upon his forehead. Martin Grille felt sure he perceived large tear drops rolling over his cheeks; but the door was closed in an instant, and he saw no more. From the moment of the astrologer's entrance the conversation was carried on in a low tone; but it lasted nearly three quarters of an hour, and at the end of that time the door again opened, and the three who were in the inner chamber came out into the hall. "Now I am ready to go," said Jean Charost. "Unfasten the horses, Martin Grille." "I thought we were to stay here all night, sir," replied Chauvin, "and I think, sir, you had better consider what you do. I may tell you now, what I did not mention before, that the bearing on my cap very soon betrayed that I belonged to the Duke of Orleans, and I heard bets made among the Burgundy people that we should not go five miles before we were brought back. There was a great deal of talk about it that I don't remember, as to whether his highness would keep you or let you go at all; but all agreed that if he did let you go, you would not go far without being stopped and searched. I took no notice, and pretended not to hear; but I slipped out quietly and saddled the horses." "You did well, Chauvin," replied the young secretary. "But I must not delay when there is a possibility of going forward. This gentleman agrees to show us a less dangerous way than the high-road, and I am determined to put myself under his guidance. The responsibility be upon my head." "Well, sir, I have nothing to do but obey," replied the chevaucheur, and took a step toward the door. "Stay a moment," said the astrologer. "I have ordered you some refreshment, and I have two words to write to the noble duke, Monsieur De Brecy. Tell him I am his faithful servant ever, and that I greatly regret to have to warn him of such impending danger." "I beseech you, my good friend," replied Jean Charost, "send your warning by some other messenger; first, because I may be long upon the way, and tidings of such importance should reach his highness soon; secondly, because I would fain not be a bird of evil omen. Great men love not those who bring them bad tidings. But the first reason is the best. I will take your letter, however unwillingly, but eight-and-forty hours must elapse ere I can reach Blois. I shall then have to wait the pleasure of the duchess, and then return, probably, by slow journeys; valuable time will be lost, and your intelligence may come too late." "So be it," said the astrologer; "although--" But before he could finish the sentence, a tawny colored man, dressed somewhat fantastically, in a white tunic and large turban, entered the room bearing in bottles and silver cups. "You have seldom tasted such wine as this," said the astrologer, offering the first cup he poured out to the tall gaunt stranger. "Take it, my lord. You are my early friend and patron; and you must not depart without drinking wine in my house. It will do you good, and raise your spirits." "I would not have them raised," replied the stranger, putting aside the cup. "False happiness is not what I desire. I have had too much of that already. My misery is pure, if it be bitter. I would not mingle it with a fouler thing." Those were the only words he spoke from that moment till the whole party reached the neighborhood of Chilleurs aux Rois. Martin Grille drank his cup of wine, and hastened to bring out the horses. Armand Chauvin drank likewise, and followed him in silence, and when the astrologer accompanied his two noble guests to the court-yard, they found a tall, powerful gray horse held ready by the Moor. Jean Charost took leave of his host with a few courteous words; but the stranger mounted in silence, rode out as soon as the gates were open, and turning at once to the right, led the way quite round the town, crossed a small stream, and then, by paths with which he seemed perfectly well acquainted, dashed on at a quick pace to the westward, leaving the others to come after as best they could, much to the inconvenience, be it said, of poor Martin Grille, whose horse stumbled continually, as horses will do with bad riders. Jean Charost kept generally by the stranger's side, and once or twice spoke a few words to him; but he received no answer, and through the long night they rode on, even after the moon had gone down, without drawing a rein till, just at the gray of the morning, they distinguished a church steeple, at the distance of about half a mile on the right. There the stranger pulled up his horse suddenly, and said, "Chilleurs aux Rois." "Here, I suppose, we are safe," said Jean Charost. "Quite safe," was the brief reply. "Fare you well--remember!" "I always remember my given word," replied Jean Charost; "where can I see or hear from you in case of need?" The stranger gazed at him with a grim dark smile; turned his horse's head and galloped away. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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