The Huguenot Part 51

"As Catholic as salt fish on a Friday," replied Riquet. "Surrounded on all sides by heretics, I was at one time in great fear for myself, like a man in a city where there is a plague. But bless you, Sir, I found it was not catching, and here I am more Catholic than ever."

"Have you, then, in any instance, borne arms in this war?" demanded the Chevalier.

"No, on my honour, Chevalier," replied the valet. "No arms have I borne except a shaving-brush, a razor, a pair of tweezers, and a toothpick."

"Well, then," replied the Chevalier, "I can promise you pardon; but remember you are a prisoner on parole. Do you give me your word that you will not try to escape?"

"Lord bless you, Sir," replied the man, "I would not escape for the world. I am with the winning side. You don't suppose Riquet's a fool, to go over to the poor devils that you're driving into the sea!"

"Scoundrel!" said a deep but faint voice from the other side of the building; and telling Riquet to bring the light with him, the Chevalier advanced to the spot, where, stretched upon the straw, in the most remote corner of the shed, lay the unfortunate Armand Herval, dying from the effects of at least twenty wounds. As soon as the eyes of the wounded man fell upon Riquet, he exclaimed, angrily,--"Get thee hence, traitor! Let me not see your face, scoundrel! To abandon thus your n.o.ble lord at the first moment of misfortune!"

"You mistake, Monsieur," replied Riquet quietly--"I am not a bit more of a scoundrel than you are, Monsieur Herval, nor, indeed, of a traitor either: every one serves his lord in his own way, Master Herval, that's all. You in your way, and I in mine. If you had waited a little, to hear what I had to say to the Chevalier, you would have seen that I was quite as ready to make sacrifices for my Lord as yourself."

"Herval!" said the Chevalier, as he listened to their conversation; "that name is surely familiar to me."

"Well it might be," answered Riquet; "for I dare say my Lord must have told you, Monsieur le Chevalier. This man, or I am much mistaken, would have killed the King himself, if my Lord had not prevented him."

"Indeed!" demanded the Chevalier. "Can we get any proof of this?"

"Proof, Sir?" replied the dying man; "it was on that account I sent for you. The Count de Morseiul is ruined; and the cause of the reformed church is over; and all this evil has happened through my fault. I have heard, too, that he has offered to surrender himself to the axe, in order to buy safety for the rest of us. But surely the King--let him be as great a tyrant as he may--will not murder the man that saved his life."

"The King, Sir, is no tyrant," replied the Chevalier, "but a generous and n.o.ble master to those who are obedient and loyal: even to the disobedient he is most merciful; and if this fact could be made known to him, and proved beyond all doubt, I feel perfectly convinced that he would not only pardon the Count de Morseiul for his past errors, but show him some mark of favour, in grat.i.tude for what he has done."

"The King does know it," replied Herval, sharply; "the King must know it; for I have heard that the whole papers of Hatreaumont fell into the hands of Louvois; and I have myself seen that foul tiger's name written to an order for my arrest as one of Hatreaumont's accomplices."

"But that does not prove," replied the Chevalier, "that either the King or Louvois knew of this act of the Count's."

"It does prove it," replied the dying man; "for the only letter I ever wrote to Hatreaumont in my life was to tell him that I had failed in my purpose of killing the tyrant; that every thing had gone fair till the Count de Morseiul came in between me and him, and declared, that I should take his life first. I told him all, every thing--how I got into the gardens of Versailles at night, and hid under the terrace where the King walked alone--how yon babbling fool betrayed my purpose to the Count, and he came and prevented me doing the deed I ought to have done, even if I had taken his life first. I told him all this, and I cursed the Count of Morseiul in my madness, over again and again--and now the man whose life he saved is seeking to bring him to the block."

"This is extraordinary and important," said the Chevalier: "I cannot believe that the King knows it. Louvois must have kept it from his ears. Will you make a deposition of this, my good fellow, as early to-morrow as we can get proper witnesses and a notary?"

"Early to-morrow?" said the man faintly, "early to-morrow, Chevalier?--I shall never see a to-morrow. Now is your only moment, and as for witnesses, quick, get paper and pen and ink. There is not half an hour's life in me. If you had come when first I sent, there would have been plenty of time. But now every moment is a loss."

"Quick, Riquet," cried the Chevalier, "bid the officer at the door run to my quarters, and bring down pen and ink and paper, without a moment's delay."

Riquet lost no time, and the Chevalier endeavoured as far as possible to keep Herval quiet till the means of writing were brought. The dying man would go on speaking, however, but with his voice becoming lower and lower, and his ideas evidently in some degree confused. Once or twice he spoke as if he were at Versailles, and in the presence of the King: then seemed as if he fancied himself conversing with Hatreaumont; and then again p.r.o.nounced the name of Claire more than once, and talked of happiness. When Riquet and the officer returned, however, with the materials for writing, he had still strength and recollection enough to commence his declaration in a formal manner.

"I, Armand Herval," he said, "do hereby declare, and on the bed of death affirm most solemnly, that had it not been that the Count de Morseiul prevented me, I would have shot the King of France, upon the terrace at Versailles, after the play, on the night before the arrest of the Chevalier de Rohan, and that all I said was perfectly true, in a letter which was written by me to Monsieur de Hatreaumont, dated on the--I cannot recollect the day:" he added, in a lower tone, "it seems as if a mist had come over that part of my memory."

"Never mind," said the Chevalier, "go on, my good friend, go on, the date is unimportant."

"Was it the twenty-fourth or the twenty-fifth?" continued the man. "I cannot recollect for the life of me, your Majesty. It's a short life, too. Mine will soon be spent, and Claire's is all gone----"

He spoke very faintly, indeed; and the Chevalier said, "You forget, my friend, you forget. We were talking of the Count de Morseiul."

"Ah!" cried the man, with a greater effort, and starting up on the straw--"Ah, so we were.--What a fool I am!--Write it down, quick!--Write it down, quick!--But take your fingers off my throat!--Take your fingers off my throat!--I cannot speak if you stop my breath!--What's the use of putting out the light?--Why do you put out the light?--Oh, Heaven, it is death, it is death," and, falling back upon the straw, the strong frame shook for a moment, as if an ague had seized him, and then all was still.

The Chevalier d'Evran shut his teeth close, saying, "This is unfortunate. However, you are a witness, Riquet, to all that he said."

"Lord bless you, n.o.ble Sir," replied the valet, "n.o.body will believe a word that I say. I should consider my character ruined for ever if there was any body, in all Europe, that would believe me upon my oath."

"I had forgot," said the Chevalier, dryly; "your character is in no danger, I believe, on that score. But my word will be believed, and my voice, at least, shall be heard."

"Well, Sir," replied Riquet, perhaps a little piqued at the Chevalier's reply, "let me add my voice too; for though they may believe me in nothing else, they may, perhaps, believe me in a confession which will go to twist my own neck. I wish to be sent to the King, Sir; though if you can find out when he is in a good humour I should prefer it. But my object is to inform him that it was altogether my fault, and my foolishness, and my crime, that prevented the Count de Morseiul from going to Versailles as soon as he was liberated from the Bastille to throw himself at the King's feet. If it had not been for that aforesaid foolishness of mine he would never have come hither, would never have led the rebels at all, and most likely, by this time, would have been as high in the King's good graces as ever."

"I have heard all this before," said the Chevalier. "But are you positively resolved, my good friend, to go voluntarily and make confession of all these things?--Do you remember the consequences?--Do you think of the risks?"

"No, Sir," replied Riquet, "I do quite the contrary. I try to forget them all as fast as possible, being resolved to go at any rate, and, therefore, judging that the less I think about risks and consequences the better."

"By Heaven, thou art right," replied the Chevalier, "and thou shalt have a bottle of Burgundy, if there be one in the camp, to keep warm thy good philosophy. See, there is the grey of the morning coming in, and I may well go away satisfied with having found one man in the world who is not so great a scoundrel as I thought him."

The Chevalier returned to the hut in which he had established his quarters, and cast himself down for an hour's repose; but before the daylight had been long in the sky he was on foot again, and at the door of the farm-house which contained Clemence de Marly. He was immediately admitted; and, strange as it may seem, if the Count de Morseiul had witnessed that meeting, it would certainly have wrung his heart more than the loss of a great battle. The royalist commander advanced at once to his fair prisoner, and, putting his arms slightly round her, kissed her cheek without any apparent reluctance on her part; and her first exclamation was, "Oh, Louis, I am glad to see you safe! You know not how my heart is torn!"

"I dare say it is, my pretty Clemence," replied the Chevalier, in his usual light tone; "but you, who have been doing nothing else but tearing other people's hearts for the last five years, must take your turn now. You have placed me in a terrible predicament, however, thoughtless girl," he added. "You are obstinate as an Arragonese mule about this matter of religion, and will not be contented till you have got yourself roasted in this world as preparatory to----"

"But tell me, Louis--tell me about him!" demanded Clemence. "Is he safe? Has he escaped from this awful night?"

"I suppose you mean Morseiul, by _he_ and _him_," said the Chevalier, "and if so, he is safe, as far as I know. He has escaped. That is to say, he has not been taken, thank G.o.d--though one time he was very near it; for, by the flash of the guns, I saw his face in the middle of our men:--but I dare say now, Clemence, that you would a thousand-fold rather have me killed than this heretic of yours?"

"Do not be unkind, Louis," replied Clemence--"I would of course rather have neither of you killed; but now that you have got me, tell me what is to be my fate?"

"Why, that question is difficult to answer," said the Chevalier; "Heaven knows, I did not want you, Madam. I was obliged to write you a formal summons to return, for mere decency's sake; but I certainly never expected you would obey it. You might have said, No, silly girl, without telling all the world that you had turned Huguenot--all for the love of a gallant knight."

"Nonsense, Louis! Do speak seriously," replied Clemence: "you very well know I was what you call a Huguenot long before."

"Not quite, Clemence! not quite!" cried the Chevalier: "you were what may be called Huguenoting. But this rash and imprudent determination of declaring your feelings, doubts, or whatever they may be, at the very moment when the sword of persecution is drawn, was, indeed, very silly, Clemence. What is to be done now is rendered doubly difficult, and I suppose I must of course connive at your escape. We must take means to have an intimation conveyed for some trading vessels to hover about the coast, to give you an opportunity of getting away till this fierce bigotry has gone by. It will not last long; and in a year or two, I doubt not, exiles will be permitted to return. The only difficulty will be to have the ships opportunely; but I think I can manage that."

"Oh, do, do, Louis!" exclaimed Clemence, eagerly. "That is all that can be desired; and pray try to persuade Albert to fly at once."

"Nay, nay," replied the Chevalier, laughing, "that must not be my task, Clemence. On that subject I dare not say a word. But you may well do what you will. I will take care that the means of flight to another country shall be provided for you, and you may take with you any one that is willing to go."

"But then," exclaimed Clemence, "I must have the opportunity of persuading him."

"Certainly," exclaimed the Chevalier: "the first thing you have to do is to get out of my camp as fast as you can. I would not have you three days here for the world; for as affairs go at present, I cannot answer that the power of protecting you will be left to me for three days. However," he added, after a moment's thought, "to-day you must stay and march on with us, and before to-morrow, I trust I shall be able to put you under such protection as will insure you safety and support in your flight; and now, pretty maid, I must leave you. We shall begin to march about noon. In the mean time there is a courier going to Montaigu, so send off thither for whatever you may need to make you comfortable. An easy horse shall be ready for you; and if at any time you may feel yourself inclined to gallop away, you may take him with you as a present from me. By the way, little heretic," he added, when he got to the door, "you will want money for your peregrinations."

"Oh, no," replied Clemence, "I have plenty. I have plenty, I a.s.sure you. I have near two hundred double louis which I took to the prison in hopes----."

"Little do you know of what you may want, silly girl," replied the Chevalier. "Why one of these very merchant ships may demand the half of that for carrying you over. Here," he added, drawing forth a leathern purse embroidered in gold--"I don't know how much there is here, but you must take it too; and if by any unforeseen circ.u.mstance you should need more when in England, draw on me what they call a bill of exchange."

Clemence took the money without ceremony, as if it were a mere matter of course, and only added, "Come and see me again before we march, Louis."

The Chevalier nodded his head and left her.

CHAPTER XIII

THE LAST EFFORTS.