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Agnes Sorel

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<h4>CHAPTER XXXI.</h4> It was past ten o'clock at night, when a litter, escorted by four men on horseback, passed the gates of Paris. A short detention took place before the guards at the gates would suffer the party to proceed, and one man went into the guardhouse, and brought out a lantern to examine the inside of the litter and the countenances of the cavaliers. He used it also to examine the pass, though, to say truth, he could not read a word, albeit an officer of some standing. In this respect none of his companions were in better case than himself; and they all declared that the handwriting was so bad that nobody on earth could read it. It seemed likely, at one time, that this illegibility of the writing, or want of the reading faculty on the part of the guards, might be made an excuse for detaining the whole party till somebody with better eyes or better instruction should come up. But one of the horsemen dismounted, saying, "I will read it to you;" and looking over the officer's shoulder, he proceeded thus, "I, William, Marquis De Giac, do hereby strictly enjoin and command you, in the name of the high and mighty prince, John, duke of Burgundy, to pass safely through the gates of Paris, without let or impediment, Maître Jacques Cœur, clerk, his wife, and three serving-men, and to give them aid and comfort in case of need, signed, De Giac." "Is that it?" asked the officer, staring on the paper. "Yes, don't you see?" answered Jacques Cœur, pointing with his finger. "To let pass the gates of the city of Paris." "Well, well, go along," said the man; and, mounting his horse again, the merchant led the way; and the litter, with those that it contained, followed. For a wonder, Martin Grille held his tongue all this time; but ere they had gone half a dozen furlongs, he approached the side of the litter, and, putting in his head, asked how his young master was. "Better, Martin, better," replied Jean Charost. "Every hour I feel better." "Well, thank God, we are out of the city," said Martin Grille. "My heart has been so often in my mouth during this last half hour, that I thought I should bite it if I did but say a word. I wonder which way we are to direct our steps now." "Toward Bourges, Martin," replied Jacques Cœur, who was riding near. "Toward Bourges!" said Martin Grille. "Then what's to become of the baby?" "The baby!" repeated Madame De Brecy, in a tone as full of surprise as that in which Martin had repeated the words "toward Bourges." "In Heaven's name, what baby?" Jean Charost laid his hand gently on his mother, saying, "It is very true, dear mother. A young child--quite an infant--has been given into my care, and I have promised to protect and educate her." "But whose child is she?" asked Madame De Brecy, in a tone of some alarm and consternation. "I can not tell," replied her son. "I believe she is an orphan; but I am ignorant of all the facts." "She is an orphan in a double sense," said Jacques Cœur, mingling in the discourse; "at least I believe so. I have nothing to guide me but suspicion, it is true; but my suspicion is strong. Ay, my young friend: you are surprised that I know aught of this affair; but a friend's eye is often as watchful as a parent's. I saw the child, some days after it was given into your charge, and there is a strong likeness--as strong as there can be between an infant and a grown person--between this poor thing and one who is no more." "Who--who?" asked Jean Charost, eagerly. "One whom you never saw," replied Jacques Cœur; and Jean Charost was silent; for although he himself entertained suspicions, his friend's words were quite adverse to them. "It was well bethought of, Martin," continued Jacques Cœur, after a short pause. "We had better take our way by Beauté. It is not far round, and we shall all the sooner get within the posts of the Orleans party; for they are already preparing for war. We can not take the child with us, for she is too young to go without a nurse; but we can make arrangements for her coming hereafter; and of course that which you promised when in peril of your life had you refused, must be performed to the letter, my young friend." "Assuredly," replied Jean Charost. "Can we reach Beauté to-night?" "I fear not," answered the merchant. "But we must go on till we have put danger behind us. Now draw the curtains of the litter again, and try to sleep, my son. Sleep is a strange whiler away of weary hours." But, though the pace of the horse-litter was drowsy enough, it was long before any thing like slumber came near the eyes of Jean Charost; and he had just closed them, with a certain sort of heaviness of the lids, when the words "Halt, halt, whoever you are!" were heard on all sides, together with the tramp of many horses, and the jingling of arms. Madame De Brecy and her son drew back the curtains instantly; and they then found that they were surrounded by a large party of men-at-arms, two or three of whom were conversing with Jacques Cœur, a little in advance. The moon had somewhat declined; but it was shining on the faces of several of the group; and, after gazing out for a moment or two, Jean Charost exclaimed, "De Royans--Monsieur De Royans!" His voice, which was weak, was at first not attended to; but, on repeating the call, one of the horsemen turned quickly round and rode up to the side of the litter. "Ah, De Brecy, is that you?" cried the young, man, holding out his hand to him. "Here, Messire What's-your-name, we will believe you now; for here is one who has suffered enough for his faithfulness to the good duke. Why, how is this, De Brecy? In a litter--when we want every man in the saddle. But I heard you were very ill. You must get well soon, and strike a good stroke beside me and the rest, for the memory of our good lord, whom they sent to heaven before his time. Oh, if I could get one blow at that Burgundian's head, I would aim better than I did at the Quintain. Well, you shall come on with us to Juvisy, and we will lodge and entertain you." Thus saying, Juvenel de Royans turned away, rode back to his companions, and gave them explanations which seemed satisfactory; for the merchant and his party were not only suffered to proceed, but obtained the escort of some forty or fifty men-at-arms, who had been about to return to Juvisy when they fell in with the little cavalcade of Jacques Cœur. None of the many moral enigmas with which we are surrounded is more difficult of comprehension to the mind of a man of fixed and resolute character than the sudden changes which come upon more impulsive and volatile people. The demeanor of Juvenel de Royans was a matter of serious and puzzling thought to Jean Charost through the rest of the journey. He seemed so entirely changed, not only in feelings toward the young gentleman himself, but in disposition. Frank, active, impetuous as ever, he had, in the space of a few terrible weeks, lost the boyish flippancy of manner, and put on the manly character at once. Jean Charost could not understand it at all; and it seemed to him most strange that one who would willingly have cut his throat not a month before, should now, upon the establishment of one very slight link between them, treat him as a dear and ancient friend. Jean Charost was less of a Frenchman than Juvenel de Royans, both by birth and education; for the latter had been born in the gay and movable south, and had been indulged, if not spoiled, during all his early life; while the former had first seen the light in much more northern regions, and had received very early severe lessons of adversity. Neither, perhaps, had any distinct notion of the real causes of their former enmity; but Jean Charost was, at least, well satisfied that it should be terminated; and, as he was of no rancorous disposition, he gladly received the proffered friendship of his former adversary; though, to say sooth, he counted it at somewhat less than it was worth, on account of the suddenness with which it had arisen. He knew not that some of the trees which spring up the most rapidly are nevertheless the most valuable. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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