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  AN ENEMY TO THE KING

  From the recently discovered memoirs of the Sieur de la Tournoire

  By Robert Neilson Stephens

  Author of "The Continental Dragoon," "The Road to Paris," "PhilipWinwood," etc.

  1897

  CONTENTS.

  I. TWO ENCOUNTERS BY NIGHT II. LOVE-MAKING AT SHORT ACQUAINTANCE III. THE STRANGE REQUEST OF MLLE. D'ARENCY IV. HOW LA TOURNOIRE WAS ENLIGHTENED IN THE DARK V. HOW LA TOURNOIRE ESCAPED FROM PARIS VI. HOW HE FLED SOUTHWARD VII. HOW HE ANNOYED MONSIEUR DE LA CHATRE VIII. A SWEET LADY IN DISTRESS IX. THE FOUR RASCALS X. A DISAPPEARANCE XI. HOW THE HERO GAVE HIS WORD AND KEPT IT XII. AT THE CHATEAU OF MAURY XIII. HOW DE BERQUIN INVITED DEATH XIV. "GOD GRANT I DO NOT FIND YOU FALSE" XV. TO CLOCHONNE, AFTER MADEMOISELLE! XVI. BEHIND THE CURTAINS XVII. SWORD AND DAGGER XVIII. THE RIDE TOWARDS GUIENNE

  AN ENEMY TO THE KING

  CHAPTER I.

  TWO ENCOUNTERS BY NIGHT

  Hitherto I have written with the sword, after the fashion of greater men,and requiring no secretary. I now take up the quill to set forth,correctly, certain incidents which, having been noised about, stand indanger of being inaccurately reported by some imitator of Brantome and Del'Estoile. If all the world is to know of this matter, let it knowthereof rightly.

  It was early in January, in the year 1578, that I first set out forParis. My mother had died when I was twelve years old, and my father hadfollowed her a year later. It was his last wish that I, his only child,should remain at the chateau, in Anjou, continuing my studies until theend of my twenty-first year. He had chosen that I should learn manners asbest I could at home, not as page in some great household or as gentlemanin the retinue of some high personage. "A De Launay shall have no masterbut God and the King," he said. Reverently I had fulfilled hisinjunctions, holding my young impulses in leash. I passed the time insword practice with our old steward, Michel, who had followed my fatherin the wars under Coligny, in hunting in our little patch of woods,reading the Latin authors in the flowery garden of the chateau, or in myfavorite chamber,--that one at the top of the new tower which had beenbuilt in the reign of Henri II. to replace the original black tower fromwhich the earliest De Launay of note got the title of Sieur de laTournoire. All this while I was holding in curb my impatient desires. Soalmost resistless are the forces that impel the young heart, that theremust have been a hard struggle within me had I had to wait even a monthlonger for the birthday which finally set me free to go what ways Ichose. I rose early on that cold but sunlit January day, mad witheagerness to be off and away into the great world that at last lay opento me. Poor old Michel was sad that I had decided to go alone. But theonly servant whom I would have taken with me was the only one to whom Iwould entrust the house of my fathers in my absence,--old Michel himself.I thought the others too rustic. My few tenants would have made awkwardlackeys in peace, sorry soldiers in war.

  Michel had my portmanteau fastened on my horse, which had been broughtout into the courtyard, and then he stood by me while I took my lastbreakfast in La Tournoire; and, in my haste to be off, I would haveeaten little had he not pressed much upon me, reminding me how manyleagues I would have to ride before meeting a good inn on the Parisroad. He was sad, poor old Michel, at my going, and yet he partook ofsome of my own eagerness. At last I had forced down my unwilling throatfood enough to satisfy even old Michel's solicitude. He girded on me thefinest of the swords that my father had left, placed over my violetvelvet doublet the new cloak I had bought for the occasion, handed me mynew hat with its showy plumes, and stood aside for me to pass out. Inthe pocket of my red breeches was a purse holding enough golden crownsto ease my path for some time to come. I cast one last look around theold hall and, trying to check the rapidity of my breath, and the risingof the lump in my throat, strode out to the court-yard, breathed thefresh air with a new ecstasy, mounted the steaming horse, gave Michel myhand for a moment, and, purposely avoiding meeting his eyes, spoke alast kind word to the old man. After acknowledging the farewells of theother servants, who stood in line trying to look joyous, I started myhorse with a little jerk of the rein, and was borne swiftly through theporte, over the bridge, and out into the world. Behind me was the homeof my fathers and my childhood; before me was Paris. It was a fine,bracing winter morning, and I was twenty-one. A good horse was under me,a sword was at my side, there was money in my pocket. Will I ever feelagain as I did that morning?

  Some have stupidly wondered why, being a Huguenot born and bred, I didnot, when free to leave La Tournoire, go at once to offer my sword toHenri of Navarre or to some other leader of our party. This is easilyanswered. If I was a Huguenot, I was also a man of twenty-one; and thelatter much more than the former. Paris was the centre of the world.There was the court, there were the adventures to be had, there must onego to see the whole of life; there would I meet men and make conquests ofwomen. There awaited me the pleasures of which I had known only byreport, there the advancement, the triumphs in personal quarrels; and,above all else, the great love affair of my dreams. Who that is a man andtwenty-one has not such dreams? And who that is a man and seventy wouldhave been without them? Youth and folly go together, each sweetening theother. The greatest fool, I think, is he who would have gone through lifeentirely without folly. What then mattered religion to me? Or whatmattered the rivalry of parties, except as they might serve my ownpersonal ambitions and desires? Youth was ebullient in me. The longing topenetrate the unknown made inaction intolerable to me. I must rush intothe whirlpool; I must be in the very midst of things; I longed forgaiety, for mystery, for contest; I must sing, drink, fight, make love.It is true that there would have been some outlet for my energies in camplife, but no gratification for my finer tastes, no luxury, no suchpleasures as Paris afforded,--little diversity, no elating sense of beingat the core of events, no opportunities for love-making. In Paris werethe pretty women. The last circumstance alone would have decided me.

  I had reached twenty-one without having been deeply in love. I had, ofcourse, had transient periods of inclination towards more than one of thedemoiselles in the neighborhood of La Tournoire; but these demoiselleshad rapidly become insipid to me. As I grew older, I found it less easyto be attracted by young ladies whom I had known from childhood up. I hadnone the less the desire to be in love; but the woman whom I should lovemust be new to me, a mystery, something to fathom and yet unfathomable.She must be a world, inexhaustible, always retaining the charm of thepartly unknown. I had high aspirations. No pretty maid, however low instation, was unworthy a kiss and some flattery; but the real _affaired'amour_ of my life must have no elements but magnificent ones. She mustbe some great lady of the court, and our passion must be attended bycircumstances of mystery, danger, everything to complicate it and raiseit to an epic height. Such was the amour I had determined to find inParis. Remember, you who read this, that I am disclosing the inmostdreams of a man of twenty-one. Such dreams are appropriate to that age;it is only when they are associated with middle age that they becomeridiculous; and when thoughts of amatory conquest are found in commonwith gray hairs, they are loathsome. If I seem to have given my mindlargely up to fancies of love, consider that I was then at the age whensuch fancies rather adorn than deface. Indeed, a young man withoutthoughts of love is as much an anomaly as is an older man who giveshimself up to them.

  I looked back once at La Tournoire, when I reached the top of the hillthat would, in another minute, shut it from my view. I saw old Michelstanding at the porte. I waved my hand to him, and turned to proceed onmy way. Soo
n the lump in my throat melted away, the moisture left myeyes, and only the future concerned me. Every object that came intosight, every tree along the roadside, now interested me. I passed severaltravellers, some of whom seemed to envy me my indifference to the coldweather, my look of joyous content.

  About noon I overtook, just where the road left a wood and turned tocross a bridge, a small cavalcade consisting of an erect, handsomegentleman of middle age, and several armed lackeys. The gentleman wore ablack velvet doublet, and his attire, from his snowy ruff to his blackboots, was in the best condition. He had a frank, manly countenance thatinvited address. At the turn of the road he saw me, and, taking me in ata glance, he fell behind his lackeys that I might come up to him. Hegreeted me courteously, and after he had spoken of the weather and thepromise of the sky, he mentioned, incidentally, that he was going toParis. I told him my own destination, and we came to talking of thecourt. I perceived, from his remarks, that he was well acquainted there.There was some talk of the quarrels between the King's favorites andthose of his brother, the Duke of Anjou; of the latter's sulkiness overhis treatment at the hands of the King; of the probabilities for andagainst Anjou's leaving Paris and putting himself at the head of themalcontent and Huguenot parties; of the friendship between Anjou and hissister Marguerite, who remained at the Court of France while her husband,Henri of Navarre, held his mimic Huguenot court in Bearn. Presently, thename of the Duke of Guise came up.

  Now we Huguenots held, and still hold, Henri de Guise to have been achief instigator of the event of St. Bartholomew's Night, in 1572.Always I had in my mind the picture of Coligny, under whom my father hadfought, lying dead in his own courtyard, in the Rue de Bethizy, hismurder done under the direction of that same Henri, his body thrown fromhis window into the court at Henri's orders, and there spurned byHenri's foot. I had heard, too, of this illustrious duke's opencontinuance of his amour with Marguerite, queen of our leader, Henri ofNavarre. When I spoke of him to the gentleman at whose side I rode, Iput no restraint on my tongue.

  "The Duke of Guise!" I said. "All that I ever wish to say of him canbe very quickly spoken. If, as you Catholics believe, God has anearthly representative in the Pope, then I think the devil has one inHenri de Guise."

  The gentleman was quiet for a moment, and looked very sober. Then hesaid gravely:

  "All men have their faults, monsieur. The difference between men is thatsome have no virtues to compensate for their vices."

  "If Henri de Guise has any virtues," I replied, "he wears a mask overthem; and he conceals them more effectually than he hides hispredilection for assassination, his amours, and his design to rule Francethrough the Holy League of which he is the real head."

  The gentleman turned very red, and darted at me a glance of anger. Thenrestraining himself, he answered in a very low tone:

  "Monsieur, the subject can be discussed by us in only one way, or notat all. You are young, and it would be too pitiful for you to be cutoff before you have even seen Paris. Doubtless, you are impatient toarrive there. It would be well, then, if you rode on a little faster.It is my intention to proceed at a much slower pace than will beagreeable to you."

  And he reined in his horse.

  I reined in mine likewise. I was boiling with wrath at his superior tone,and his consideration for my youth, but I imitated his coolness as wellas I could.

  "Monsieur," said I, "whether or not I ever see Paris is not a matter toconcern you. I cannot allow you to consider my youth. You wish to beobliging; then consider that nothing in the world would be a greaterfavor to me than an opportunity to maintain with my sword my opinion ofHenri de Guise."

  The man smiled gently, and replied without passion:

  "Then, as we certainly are not going to fight, let my refusal be, not onaccount of your youth, but on account of my necessity of reaching Pariswithout accident."

  His horse stood still. His lackeys also had stopped their horses, whichstood pawing and snorting at a respectful distance. It was an awkwardmoment for me. I could not stand there trying to persuade a perfectlyserene man to fight. So with an abrupt pull of the rein I started myhorse, mechanically applied the spur, and galloped off. A few minuteslater I was out of sight of this singularly self-controlled gentleman,who resented my description of the Duke of Guise. I was annoyed for sometime to think that he had had the better of the occurrence; and I gavemyself up for an hour to the unprofitable occupation of mentallyreenacting the scene in a manner more creditable to myself.

  "I may meet him in Paris some day," I said to myself, "and find anoccasion to right myself in his estimation. He shall not let my youthintercede for me again."

  Then I wished that I had learned his name, that I might, on reachingParis, have found out more about him. Having in his suite no gentlemen,but several lackeys, he was, doubtless, not himself an importantpersonage, but a follower of one. Not wishing to meet him again untilcircumstances should have changed, I passed the next inn to which I came,guessing that he would stop there. He must have done so, for he did notcome up with me that day, or at any time during my journey.

  It was at sunset on a clear, cold evening that, without furtheradventure, I rode into Paris through the Porte St. Michel, and stared,as I proceeded along the Rue de la Harpe, at the crowds of peoplehurrying in either direction in each of the narrow, crooked streets,each person so absorbed in his own errand, and so used to the throng andthe noise, that he paid no heed to the animation that so interested andstirred me. The rays of the setting sun lighted up the towers of thecolleges and abbeys at my right, while those at my left stood blackagainst the purple and yellow sky. I rode on and on, not wishing to stopat an inn until I should have seen more of the panorama that so charmedme. At last I reached the left bank of the Seine, and saw before me thelittle Isle of the City, the sunlit towers of Notre Dame rising abovethe wilderness of turrets and spires surrounding them. I crossed thePont St. Michel, stopping for a moment to look westward towards the Tourde Nesle, and then eastward to the Tournelle, thus covering, in twoglances, the river bank of the University through which I had just come.Emerging from the bridge, I followed the Rue de la Barillerie across theIsle of the City, finding everywhere the same bustle, the same comingand going of citizens, priests, students, and beggars, all alert, yetnot to be surprised by any spectacle that might arise before them.Reaching the right arm of the Seine, I stopped again, this time on thePont-au-Change, and embraced, in a sweeping look from left to right, theriver bank of the town, the Paris of the court and the palaces, of themarkets and of trade, the Paris in which I hoped to find a splendidfuture, the Paris into which, after taking this comprehensive view fromthe towers of the Louvre and the Tour de Bois away leftward, to the Tourde Billy away right ward, I urged my horse with a jubilant heart. It wasa quite dark Paris by the time I plunged into it. The Rue St. Denis,along which I rode, was beginning to be lighted here and there by strayrays from windows. The still narrower streets, that ran, like crookedcorridors in a great chateau, from the large thoroughfare, seemed to bealtogether dark.

  But, dark as the city had become, I had determined to explore some of itthat night, so charming was its novelty, so inviting to me were itscountless streets, leading to who knows what? I stopped at a large inn inthe Rue St. Denis, saw my tired horse well cared for by an hostler, whoseemed amazed at my rustic solicitude for details, had my portmanteaudeposited in a clean, white-washed chamber, overlooking the street, ate asupper such as only a Paris innkeeper can serve and a ravenous youth fromthe country can devour, and went forth afoot, after curfew, into the nowentirely dark and no longer crowded street, to find what might befall me.

  It had grown colder at nightfall, and I had to draw my cloak closelyaround me. A wind had come up, too, and the few people whom I met werewalking with head thrust forward, the better to resist the breeze when itshould oppose them. Some were attended by armed servants bearinglanterns. The sign-boards, that hung from the projecting stories of thetall houses, swung as the wind swayed, and there was a continua
l sound ofcreaking. Clouds had risen, and the moon was obscured much of the time,so that when I looked down some of the narrower streets I could not seewhether they ended within a short distance, turned out of sight, orcontinued far in the same direction. Being accustomed to the countryroads, the squares of smaller towns, and the wide avenues of the littlepark at La Tournoire, I was at first surprised at the narrowness of thestreets. Across one of them lay a drunken man, peacefully snoring. Hishead touched the house on one side of the street, and his feet pressedthe wall on the opposite side. It surprised me to find so many of thestreets no wider than this. But there was more breathing room wherevertwo streets crossed and where several of them opened into some greatplace. The crookedness and curvature of the streets constantly tempted meto seek what might be beyond, around the corner, or the bend; andwhenever I sought, I found still other corners or bends hiding theunknown, and luring me to investigate.

  I had started westward from the inn, intending to proceed towards theLouvre. But presently, having turned aside from one irregular streetinto another, I did not know what was the direction in which I went.The only noises that I heard were those caused by the wind, exceptingwhen now and then came suddenly a burst of loud talk, mingled mirth andjangling, as quickly shut off, when the door of some cabaret opened andclosed. When I heard footsteps on the uneven pebble pavement of thestreet, and saw approaching me out of the gloom some cloakedpedestrian, I mechanically gripped the handle of my sword, and kept awary eye on the stranger,--knowing that in passing each other we mustalmost touch elbows. His own suspicious and cautious demeanor andmotions reflected mine.

  At night, in the narrow streets of a great town, there exists in everyfootfall heard, every human figure seen emerging from the darkness, thepossibility of an encounter, an adventure, something unexpected. So, tothe night roamer, every human sound or sight has an unwonted interest.

  As I followed the turning of one of the narrowest streets, the darkness,some distance ahead of me, was suddenly cleft by a stream of light from awindow that was quickly opened in the second story of a tall house on theright-hand side of the way. Then the window was darkened by the form of aman coming from the chamber within. At his appearance into view I stoodstill. Resting for a moment on his knees on the window-ledge, he loweredfirst one leg, then the other, then his body, and presently he washanging by his hands over the street. Then the face of a woman appearedin the window, and as the man remained there, suspended, he looked up ather inquiringly.

  "It is well," she said, in a low tone; "but be quick. We are just intime." And she stood ready to close the window as soon as he should beout of the way.

  "Good night, adorable," he replied, and dropped to the street. Thelady immediately closed the window, not even waiting to see how theman had alighted.

  Had she waited to see that, she would have seen him, in lurching over toprevent his sword from striking the ground, lose his balance on adetached paving-stone, and fall heavily on his right arm.

  "_Peste_!" he hissed, as he slowly scrambled to his feet. "I havebroken my arm!"

  With his right arm hanging stiff by his side, and clutching its elbowwith his left hand, as if in great pain, he hastened away from the spot,not having noticed me. I followed him.

  After a second turn, the street crossed another. In the middle of theopen space at the junction, there stood a cross, as could be seen by themoonlight that now came through an interval in the procession ofwind-driven clouds.

  Just as the man with the hurt arm, who was slender, and had a dandifiedwalk, entered this open space, a gust of wind came into it with him; andthere came, also, from the other street, a robust gentleman of mediumheight, holding his head high and walking briskly. Caught by the gust ofwind, my gentleman from the second story window ran precipitantly intothe other. The robust man was not sent backward an inch. He took theshock of meeting with the firmness of an unyielding wall, so that theslender gentleman rebounded. Each man uttered a brief oath, and graspedhis sword, the slender one forgetting the condition of his arm.

  "Oh, it is you," said the robust man, in a virile voice, of which thetone was now purposely offensive. "The wind blows fragile articles intoone's face to-night."

  "It blows gentlemen into muck-heaps," responded the other, quickly.

  The hearty gentleman gave a loud laugh, meant to aggravate the other'sanger, and then said:

  "We do not need seconds, M. de Quelus," putting into his utterance of theother's name a world of insult.

  "Come on, then, M. Bussy d'Amboise," replied the other, pronouncing thename only that he might, in return, hiss out the final syllable as if itwere the word for something filthy.

  Both whipped out their swords, M. de Quelus now seemingly unconscious ofthe pain in his arm.

  I looked on from the shadow in which I had stopped, not having followedDe Quelus into the little open space. My interest in the encounter wasnaturally the greater for having learned the names of the antagonists. AtLa Tournoire I had heard enough of the court to know that the Marquis deQuelus was the chief of the King's effeminate chamberlains, whom hecalled his minions, and that Bussy d'Amboise was the most redoubtable ofthe rufflers attached to the King's discontented brother, the Duke ofAnjou; and that between the dainty gentlemen of the King and the bullyingswordsmen of the Duke, there was continual feud.

  Bussy d'Amboise, disdaining even to remove his cloak, of which he quicklygathered the end under his left arm, made two steps and a thrust at DeQuelus. The latter made what parade he could for a moment, so that Bussystepped back to try a feint. De Quelus, trying to raise his sword atrifle higher, uttered an ejaculation of pain, and then dropped thepoint. Bussy had already begun the motion of a lunge, which it was toolate to arrest, even if he had discovered that the other's arm wasinjured and had disdained to profit by such an advantage. De Quelus wouldhave been pierced through had not I leaped forward with drawn sword and,by a quick thrust, happened to strike Bussy's blade and make it divergefrom its course.

  De Quelus jumped back on his side, as Bussy did on his. Both regarded mewith astonishment.

  "Oh, ho, an ambush!" cried Bussy. "Then come on, all of you, messieurs ofthe daubed face and painted beard! I shall not even call my servants, whowait at the next corner."

  And he made a lunge at me, which I diverted by a parry made on instinct,not having had time to bring my mind to the direction of matters. Bussythen stood back on guard.

  "You lie," said De Quelus, vainly trying to find sufficient strengthin his arm to lift his sword. "I was alone. My servants are as nearas yours, yet I have not called. As for this gentleman, I never sawhim before."

  "That is true," I said, keeping up my guard, while Bussy stood with hisback to the cross, his brows knit in his effort to make out my features.

  "Oh, very well," said Bussy. "I do not recognize him, but he is evidentlya gentleman in search of a quarrel, and I am disposed to beaccommodating."

  He attacked me again, and I surprised myself, vastly, by being able toresist the onslaughts of this, the most formidable swordsman at thecourt of France. But I dared not hope for final victory. It did not evenoccur to me as possible that I might survive this fight. The best forwhich I hoped was that I might not be among the easiest victims of thisfamous sword.

  "Monsieur," said De Quelus, while Bussy and I kept it up, with offenceon his part, defence on mine, "I am sorry that I cannot intervene tosave your life. My arm has been hurt in a fall, and I cannot even holdup my sword."

  "I know that," I replied. "That is why I interfered."

  "The devil!" cried Bussy. "Much as I detest you, M. de Quelus, you know Iwould not have attacked you had I known that. But this gentleman, atleast, has nothing the matter with his arm."

  And he came for me again.

  Nothing the matter with my arm! Actually a compliment upon mysword-handling from the most invincible fighter, whether in formal duelor sudden quarrel, in France! I liked the generosity which impelled himto acknowledge me a worthy antagonist, as much as I resented
hisoverbearing insolence; and I began to think there was a chance for me.

  For the first time, I now assumed the offensive, and with such suddennessthat Bussy fell back, out of sheer surprise. He had forgotten about thecross that stood in the centre of the place, and, in leaping backward, hestruck this cross heavily with his sword wrist. His glove did not savehim from being jarred and bruised; and, for a moment, he relaxed his firmgrasp of his sword, and before he could renew his clutch I could havedestroyed his guard and ended the matter; but I dropped my point instead.

  Bussy looked at me in amazement, and then dropped his.

  "Absurd, monsieur! You might very fairly have used your advantage.Now you have spoiled everything. We can't go on fighting, for I wouldnot give you another such opening, nor would I kill a man who givesme my life."

  "As you will, monsieur," said I. "I am glad not to be killed, for whatis the use of having fought Bussy d'Amboise if one may not live toboast of it?"

  He seemed pleased in his self-esteem, and sheathed his sword. "I amdestined not to fight to-night," he answered. "One adversary turns out tohave a damaged arm, which would make it a disgrace to kill him, and theother puts me under obligation for my life. But, M. de Quelus, your armwill recover."

  "I hope so, if for only one reason," replied Quelus.

  Bussy d'Amboise then bowed to me, and strode on his way. He was joined atthe next crossing of streets by four lackeys, who had been waiting inshadow. All had swords and pistols, and one bore a lantern, which hadbeen concealed beneath his cloak.

  De Quelus, having looked after him with an angry frown, now turned to me,and spoke with affability:

  "Monsieur, had you not observed the condition of my arm, I should haveresented your aid. But as it is, I owe you my life no less than he owesyou his, and it may be that I can do more than merely acknowledge theobligation."

  I saw here the opportunity for which a man might wait months, and I wasnot such a fool as to lose it through pride.

  "Monsieur," I said, "I am Ernanton de Launay, Sieur de la Tournoire. Iarrived in Paris to-day, from Anjou, with the desire of enlisting in theFrench Guards."

  De Quelus smiled. "You desire very little for a gentleman, and one whocan handle a sword so well."

  "I know that, but I do not bring any letters, and I am not one who couldexpect the favor of a court appointment. I am a Huguenot."

  "A Huguenot?" said De Quelus. "And yet you come to Paris?"

  "I prefer to serve the King of France. He is at present on good termswith the Huguenots, is he not?"

  "Yes,--at least, he is not at war with them. Well, gentlemen like you arenot to be wasted, even though Huguenots. Attach yourself to Duret'scompany of the guards for the present, and who knows when you may win avacant captaincy? I will bring you to the attention of the King. Can yoube, to-morrow at eleven o'clock, at the principal gate of the Louvre?"

  "Yes, monsieur."

  "Very well. I will speak to Captain Duret, also, about you."

  He looked at my active figure, neither tall nor short, neither broad nortoo thin, observed the length of my arm, and remembered that I had madeso respectable a showing with the sword against Bussy, I could see thathe was thinking, "It is well to have in one's debt as many such strongand honest young gentlemen as can be had. Even a Huguenot may be usefulin these days."

  Then, when so many leaders contended, every man was desirous of gainingpartisans. At court, wise people were scrupulous to repay obligations, inthe hope of securing future benefit. I divined De Quelus's motives, butwas none the less willing to profit by them as to the possible vacantcaptaincy.

  "Then I thank you, monsieur, and will keep the appointment," I said.

  "You are alone," said De Quelus. "One does not know when one may haveone's throat cut for a sou, after dark in the streets of Paris. Will youaccept the escort of two of my servants? They are waiting for me in thenext street. One does not, you know, let one's servants wait too nearwindows out of which one expects to drop," he added with a smile.

  "I thank you, monsieur, but I have already fared so well alone to-night,that I should fear to change my fortune by taking attendants."

  "Then good night, monsieur. No, thank you. I can sheathe my own sword. Myarm has lost its numbness. _Parbleu_, I should like to meet Bussyd'Amboise now."

  And he strode away, leaving me standing by the cross.

  I hesitated between returning to the inn, and resuming my exploration ofthe streets. I decided to go back, lest I be shut out for the night.

  I had made my way some distance, in the labyrinth of streets, when, onreaching another junction of ways, I heard steps at some distance to theleft. Looking in that direction, I saw approaching a little processionheaded by two men servants, one of whom carried a lantern. I stepped backinto the street from which I had just emerged, that I might remainunseen, until it should pass. Peering around the street corner, I sawthat behind the two servants came a lady, whose form indicated youth andelegance, and who leaned on the arm of a stout woman, doubtless aservant. Behind these two came another pair of lackeys.

  The lady wore a mask, and although heavily cloaked, shivered in theJanuary wind, and walked as rapidly as she could. The four men had swordsand pistols, and were sturdy fellows, able to afford her good protection.

  The two men in advance passed without seeing me, stepping easily over apool of muddy water that had collected in a depression in the street, andhad not yet had time to freeze.

  When the lady reached this pool, she stopped at its brink and looked downat it, with a little motion of consternation.

  "I cannot step across this lake," she said, in a voice that waslow-pitched, rich, and full of charm to the ear. "We must skirtits borders."

  And she turned to walk a short distance up the street in which I stood.

  "Not so, madame," I said, stepping forth and bowing. "The lake is a longone, and you would have to go far out of your way. I will convey youacross in a moment, if you will allow me." And I held out my arms,indicating my willingness to lift her across the pool.

  The two servants in the rear now hastened up, ready to attack me, andthose ahead turned and came back, their hands on their weapons.

  The lady looked at me through the eye-holes of her mask. Her lips andchin being visible, she could not conceal a quizzical smile that cameat my offer.

  "Why not?" she said, motioning her servants back.

  I caught her up in my arms and lifted her over the puddle. She slid frommy grasp with a slight laugh.

  I sought some pretext to prolong this meeting. "When I came outto-night," I said, "I dared not hope for such happiness as this."

  "Nor did the astrologer predict anything of the kind to me," she replied.From this I knew the cause of her being in the street so late,--a secretvisit to some fortune-teller. Then she called to the stout woman, who waslooking for a place to step over the pool. "Come, Isa, in the name ofHeaven. You know that if the guard is changed--"

  She stopped, but she had already betrayed herself. She meant the guard ofthe palace, doubtless; and that her secret entrance, so long after theclosing of the gates, depended for its ease on the presence of someofficer with whom she had an understanding. She must be one of the ladiesattached to the royal household, and her nocturnal excursion, from theLouvre, was evidently clandestine.

  Isa now joined her mistress, and the latter, with a mere, "I thank you,monsieur," turned and hastened on her way. Soon the footsteps of herattendants died out of hearing.

  I had not even seen her face, save the white, curved chin and thedelicate mouth. I had only beheld her lithe figure, felt its heaving as Icarried her, had my cold cheek warmed for a moment by her breath, heardher provoking laugh and her voice, rich with vitality. Yet her charm hadcaught me and remained with me. I could not, nor did I try to throw itoff. I was possessed by a craving to see her again, to know more of her.Already I made this unknown the heroine of my prospective love affair. Icould soon find her, after gaining the entree of the court; and I couldide
ntify her by her voice as well as by her probable recognition of me.Heaving a deep sigh, I left the place of our meeting and found my wayback to the inn. Thanks to the presence of some late drinkers, I got inwithout much pounding on the door; and in my little white-washed chamberI dreamt of soft eyes that glowed through the holes of a lady's mask.