The Chevalier d'Auriac Part 14

'I want you to take the two horses we got at Evreux and fifty crowns, and go back to Ezy. Keep ten crowns for yourself and give forty to the smith and his daughter, and take them with you to Auriac. The forester's lodge is vacant--let them live there, or, if they like, there is room enough in the chateau. I will give you a letter to Bozon. He wants help, and these people will be of service to him.

After you have done this, sell one of the horses--you may keep the proceeds, and come back to me. If I am not here you will get certain news of me, and can easily find me out--you follow?'

'Exactly.'

'Then when will you be prepared to start?'

'As soon as Monsieur le Chevalier is suited with another man as faithful as I.'

'Eh!'

'_Sangdieu!_ monsieur, I shall never forget what _pere_ Michel and the old steward Bozon said when I came home last without you. I believe if I were to do so again the good cure would excommunicate me, and Maitre Bozon would have me flung into the bay to follow. If I were to go back and leave you alone in Paris anything might happen. No! no! My fathers have served Auriac for two hundred years, and it shall never be said that Jacques Bisson left the last of the old race to die alone--never!'

'My friend, you are mad--who the devil talks of dying?'

'Monsieur, I am not such a fool as perhaps I look. Do I not understand that Monsieur has an affair in hand which has more to do with a rapier than a ribbon? If not, why the night ride, why the broken pistol, and the blood-stained saddle of Couronne? If Monsieur had come to Paris in the ordinary way, we would have been at court, fluttering it as gaily as the rest, and c.o.c.king our bonnets with the best of them--instead of hiding here like a fox in his lair.'

'You are complimentary; but it is to help me I want you to do this.'

'The best help Monsieur can have is a true sword at his elbow--Monsieur will excuse me, but I will not go,' and, angry as his tone was, there were tears in the honest fellow's eyes. Of course I could have dismissed the man; but I knew him too well not to know that nothing short of killing him would rid me of him. Again I was more than touched by his fidelity. Nevertheless, I was determined to carry out my project of making up to Marie in some way for the death of Nicholas, and resolved to temporise with Jacques. There was no one else to send, and it would have to be my stout-hearted knave; but the business was to get him to go.

'Very well, Jacques; but remember, if I get other temporary help that you approve of you will have to go.'

'In that case, monsieur, it is different.'

'Then it must be your business to see to this, and now good night.'

'Good night, monsieur,' and he took himself off.

I had made up my mind to lay my information before Sully. That he was in Paris I knew, having obtained the information from Pantin, and it was my intention to repair the next day to the Hotel de Bethune, and tell the minister all. The night was one of those in which sleep would not come, not because the place was a strange one--I was too old a campaigner to lose rest because the same feather pillow was not under my head every night--but because my thoughts kept me awake. What these were I have already described, and they were in force sufficient to banish all sleep until the small hours were well on, and I at last dropped off, with the solemn notes of the Bourdon ringing in my ears.

It was about ten o'clock the next morning that I mounted Couronne, and, followed by Jacques, well armed, took my way towards the Hotel de Bethune. We found the Barillierie thronged with people on their way to St. Denis to witness the burial of Madame de Beaufort, and the Pont au Change was so crowded that we had to wait there for a full half-hour.

At last we got across the bridge, on which in their eagerness for gain the money-changers had fixed their stalls, and pushed and struggled and fought over their business on each side of the narrow track they left for the public. Finally, we pa.s.sed the grey walls of the Grand Chatelet, and turning to our right, past St. Jacques, the Place de Greve, and the Hotel de Ville, got into the Rue St. Antoine by a side street that ran from St. Gervais to the Baudets. Here we found the main street almost deserted, all Paris having crowded to the funeral, and a quarter-mile or so brought us to the gates of the Hotel de Bethune.

Sully had just received the Master-Generalship of the Ordnance, and at his door was a guard of the regiment of La Ferte. I knew the blue uniforms with the white sashes well, and they had fought like fiends at Fontaine Francaise and Ham. The officer on guard very civilly told me that the minister did not receive that day, but on my insisting and pointing out that my business was of the utmost importance, he gave way with a shrug of his shoulders. 'Go on, monsieur le chevalier, but I can tell you it is of no use; however, that is a business you must settle with Ivoy, the duke's secretary.'

I thanked him, and, dismounting and flinging the reins to Jacques, pa.s.sed up the courtyard and up the stone steps to the entrance door.

Here I was met by the same statement, that Sully was unable to receive to-day; but, on my insisting, the secretary Ivoy appeared and asked me my name and business.

'I have given my name twice already, monsieur,' I answered. 'I am the Chevalier d'Auriac, and as for my business it is of vital import, and is for Monseigneur's ear alone--you will, therefore, excuse me if I decline to mention it to you.'

Ivoy bowed. 'It will come to me in its own good time, monsieur. Will you be seated? I will deliver your message to the duke; but I am afraid it will be of little use.'

'I take the risk. Monsieur d'Ivoy.'

'But not the rating, chevalier,' and the secretary, with a half-smile on his face, went out and left me to myself. In a few minutes he returned.

'The duke will see you, monsieur--this way, please.'

'_Pardieu!_' I muttered to myself as I followed Ivoy, 'he keeps as much state as if he were the chancellor himself. However, I have a relish for Monseigneur's soup.'

Ivoy led the way up a winding staircase of oak, so old that it was black as ebony, and polished as gla.s.s. At the end of this was a landing, where a couple of lackeys were lounging on a bench before a closed door. They sprang up at our approach, and Ivoy tapped gently at the door.

'Come in,' was the answer, given in a cold voice, and the next moment we were in the room.

'Monsieur le Chevalier d'Auriac,' and Ivoy had presented me.

Sully inclined his head frigidly to my bow, and then motioned to Ivoy to retire. When we were alone, he turned to me with a brief 'Well?'

'I have information of the utmost importance which I wish to lay before you.'

'I hear that ten times a day from people. Will your story take long to tell?'

'That depends.'

'Then be seated for a moment, whilst I write a note.'

I took the chair he pointed out, and he began to write rapidly. Whilst he was doing this I had a glance round the room. It was evidently the duke's working cabinet, and it bore everywhere the marks of the prim exactness of its master's character. There was no litter of papers on the table. The huge piles of correspondence on it were arranged neatly, one file above the other. All the books in the long shelves that lined the walls were numbered, the curtains were drawn back at exact angles to the curtain poles, the chairs were set squarely, there was not a thing out of place, not a speck of dust, not a blot on the brown leather writing-pad, on the polished walnut of the table before which Sully sat. On the wall opposite to him was a portrait of Madame de Sully. It was the only ornament in the room. The portrait itself showed a sprightly-looking woman with a laughing eye, and she looked down on her lord and master from the painted canvas with a merry smile on her slightly parted lips. As for the man himself, he sat squarely at his desk, writing rapidly with an even motion of his pen. He was plainly but richly dressed, without arms of any kind. His collar was ruffed in the English fashion, but worn with a droop, over which his long beard, now streaked with grey, fell almost to the middle of his breast. He was bald, and on each side of his high, wrinkled forehead there was a thin wisp of hair, brushed neatly back. His clear eyes looked out coldly, but not unkindly, from under the dark, arched eyebrows, and his short moustaches were carefully trimmed and twisted into two points that stuck out one on each side of his long straight nose. The mouth itself was small, and the lips were drawn together tightly, not, it seemed, naturally, but by a constant habit that had become second nature. It was as if there were two spirits in this man.

One a genial influence that was held in bonds by the other, a cold, calculating, intellectual essence. Such was Maximilian de Bethune, Marquis de Rosny and Duc de Sully. He was not yet nominally chief minister. But it was well known that he was in the King's inmost secrets, and that there was no man who held more real power in the State than the Master-General of the Ordnance. As I finished my survey of him, he finished his despatch, and after folding and addressing it he turned it upside down and said to me:

'Now for your important news, monsieur. It must be very important to have brought _you_ here.'

'I do not understand?'

He looked at me, a keen inquiry in his glance. 'You do not understand?' he said.

'Indeed, no, monseigneur.'

'Hum! You are either deeper than I take you to be, or a born fool.

Look, you, are you not Alban de Breuil, Sieur d'Auriac, who was lately in arms in the service of Spain against France as a rebel and a traitor?'

'I was on the side of the League.'

'Monsieur, the League died at Ivry----'

'But not for us.'

He made an impatient gesture. 'We won't discuss that. Are you not the man I refer to? Say yes or no.'

'I am d'Auriac--there is no other of my name--but no more a rebel or traitor than Messieurs de Guise, de Mayenne, and others. The King's Peace has pardoned us all. Why should I fear to come to you? I have come to do you a service, or rather the King a service.'

'Thank you. May I ask if you did not receive a warning at La Fere, and another at Bidache?'

'From M. d'Ayen--yes. Monseigneur, I refuse to believe what I heard.'

'And yet your name heads a list of half a dozen whom the King's Peace does not touch. One of my reasons for receiving you was to have you arrested.'

'It is a high honour, all this bother about a poor gentleman of Normandy, when Guise, de Mayenne, Epernon, and others keep their skins whole.'