fatigue she had undergone; so that no person could be more different
from the elegant and blooming Pauline de Beaumont than the figure which
that mirror reflected. Pauline almost started when she beheld herself;
but quickly recovering from her surprise, she cast her eyes round the
room, which was furnished in the most splendid and costly manner, and
filled with a thousand objects of curiosity or luxury, procured from all
the quarters of the globe.

Her attention, however, rested not upon any of these. Within a few paces
of the chair in which she sat, stood a tall elegant man, near that
period of life called the middle age, but certainly rather below than
above the point to which the term is generally applied. He was
splendidly dressed, according to the custom of the day; and the neat
trimming of his beard and mustaches, the regular arrangement of his dark
flowing hair, and the scrupulous harmony and symmetry of every part of
his apparel, contradicted the thoughtful, dignified expression of his
eyes, which seemed occupied with much higher thoughts. Vandyke has
transmitted to us many such a physiognomy, and many such a dress; but
few of his costumes are more splendid, or his countenances more
dignified, than was that of the stranger who stood beside Mademoiselle
de Beaumont.

He paused for a moment, giving her time to make what examination she
liked of every thing in the apartment; and as her eye glanced to
himself, demanded with a smile, "Well, Mademoiselle de Beaumont, do you
recollect me?"

"Not in the least," replied Pauline: "I think, Sir, that we can never
have seen each other before."

"Yes, we have," answered her companion, "but it was at a distance.
However, now look in that glass, and tell me--Do you recollect
_yourself_?"

"Hardly!" replied Pauline, with a blush, "hardly, indeed!"

"Well then, fair lady, I think that you will no longer demand my reasons
for attributing to you dangerous enterprises, and actions, as you say,
deserving imprisonment; but to put an end to your doubts at once, look
at that order, where, I think, you will find yourself somewhat
accurately described." And he handed to Pauline a small piece of
parchment, beginning with the words of serious import '_De par le roy_,'
and going on to order the arrest of the Demoiselle Pauline, daughter of
the late Marquis de Beaumont, and of the Dame Anne de la Hautière; with
all those good set terms and particulars, which left no room for mistake
or quibble, even if it had been examined by the eyes of the sharpest
lawyer of the _Cour des Aides_.

"What say you now, Mademoiselle de Beaumont?" demanded her companion,
seeing her plunged in embarrassment and surprise.

"I have nothing to say, Sir," replied Pauline, "but that I must submit.
However, I trust that, in common humanity, I shall be allowed to see my
mother, either when I am in prison, or before I am conveyed thither."

"You mistake me," said the other; "you are not going to a prison. I only
intend that you should take a little journey into the country; during
the course of which all attention shall be paid to your comfort and
convenience. Of course, young lady, when you undertook the difficult
task of conveying a message from the Queen to a prisoner in the
Bastille, you were prepared to risk the consequences. As you have not
succeeded, no great punishment will fall upon you; but as it is
absolutely necessary to the Government to prevent all communication
between suspected parties, you must bear a temporary absence from the
Court, till such time as this whole business be terminated; for neither
the Queen, nor any one else, must know how far you have succeeded or
failed."

Pauline pleaded hard to be allowed to see her mother, but in vain. The
stranger was obdurate, and would listen to neither entreaties,
promises, nor remonstrances. All she could obtain was, the assurance
that Madame de Beaumont should be informed of her safety, and that,
perhaps, after a time she might be permitted to write to her. "Listen to
me," said the stranger, cutting short the prayers by which she was
attempting to influence him. "I expect the King and Court from Chantilly
within an hour; and before that time you must be out of Paris. For your
convenience, a female servant shall attend you, and you will meet with
all the respect due to your rank; but for your own sake, ask no
questions, for I never permit my domestics to canvass my affairs with
any one--nay, they are forbidden ever to mention my name, except for
some express and permitted purpose. I will now leave you, and send
Mathurine to your assistance, who will help you to change your dress
from that _coffre_. You will then take some refreshment, and set out as
speedily as possible. At the end of your journey, you will meet with
one to whose care I have recommended you, and you will then learn in
whose hands you are placed. At present, I have the honour of bidding you
farewell."

The uncertainty of her fate, the separation from her mother, the vague
uneasy fear attendant upon want of all knowledge of whither she was
going, and the impossibility of communicating with her friends under any
event, raised up images far more terrifying and horrible to the mind of
Pauline, than almost any specific danger could have done; and, as her
companion turned away, she hid her face in her hands and wept.

Hearing her sob, and perhaps attributing her tears to other motives, he
returned for a moment, and said in a low voice: "Do not weep, my dear
child! I give you my honour, that you will be well and kindly treated.
But one thing I forgot to mention. I know that your object was to visit
the Count de Blenau; and I know, also, that a personal interest had
something to do in the matter. Now, Mademoiselle de Beaumont, I can
feel for you; and it may be some comfort to know, that M. de Blenau has,
at least, one person in the Council, who will strive to give to the
proceedings against him as much leniency as circumstances will admit."

This said, he quitted the apartment, and in a moment after Pauline was
joined by the female servant of whom he had spoken. She was a staid,
reputable-looking woman, of about fifty, with a little of the primness
of ancient maidenhood, but none of its acerbity. And, aware of Pauline's
rank, she assisted her to disentangle herself from her uncomfortable
disguise with silent respect, though she could not help murmuring to
herself. "_Mon Dieu! Une demoiselle mise comme ça._" She then called the
young Lady's attention to the contents of the _coffre_, asking which
dress she would choose to wear; when, to her surprise, Pauline found
that it contained a considerable part of her own wardrobe. Forgetting
the prohibition to ask questions, she could not help demanding of
Mathurine how her clothes could come there; but the servant was either
ignorant, or pretended to be so, and Pauline could obtain no
information. As soon as she was dressed, some refreshments were placed
on the table by Mathurine, who received them from a servant at one of
the doors, which she immediately closed again, and pressed Pauline to
eat. Pauline at first refused; but at length, to satisfy her companion,
who continued to insist upon it with a degree of quiet, persevering
civility, that would take no refusal, she took some of the coffee, which
was at that time served up as a rarity. As soon as ever the domestic
perceived that no entreaty would induce her to taste any thing else, she
called in a servant to carry the _coffre_ to the carriage, and then
notified to Pauline that it was time for them to depart.

Pauline felt that all resistance or delay would be vain; and she
accordingly followed Mathurine down a magnificent staircase into a
court-yard, where stood a _chaise roulante_, the door of which was held
open by the Norman we have already mentioned, while two men-servants
appeared ready mounted to follow the vehicle, as soon as it set out.
Mathurine placed herself by Pauline's side when she had entered; and the
Norman, having closed the door, opened the _porte-cochère_ of the court,
and the carriage drove out into the street.

We will not take the trouble of following Mademoiselle de Beaumont on
her journey, which occupied that night and the two following
days:--suffice it to say, that on the evening of the second day they
arrived in the beautiful neighbourhood of Château du Loir. The smiling
slopes, covered with the first vines; the rich fruit-trees hanging
actually over the road, and dropping with the latest gifts of liberal
Nature; the balmy air of a warm September evening; the rosy cheeks of
the peasantry; and the clear, smooth windings of the river Loir,[A] all
announced that they were approaching the land of happy Touraine: and
after putting her head more than once from the window, Mathurine, with a
smile of pleasure, pointed forward, exclaiming, "_Voilà le Château_."

[A] Not the Loire.

Pauline's eyes followed to the point where the other's hand directed
them; and upon a high ground, rising gently above the trees which
crowned a little projecting turn of the river, she beheld a group of
towers and pinnacles, with the conical-slated roofs, multifarious
weathercocks, long narrow windows, one turret upon the back of another,
and all the other distinctive marks of an old French château.

CHAPTER XI.

     In which De Blenau finds that he has got the rod in his own hand,
     and how he uses it; together with a curious account of a tremendous
     combat and glorious victory.

I can easily imagine myself, and I dare say the reader will not find
much difficulty in fancying, that the Count de Blenau suffered not a
little inquietude while he remained in uncertainty respecting Pauline's
free exit from the Bastille.

Take and draw him, as Sterne did his captive. See him walking up and
down the chamber with the anxiety of doubt upon his brow and in his
heart, listening for every sound in the court-yard, catching the
footstep of the sentinel at his door, and fancying it the return of the
Governor,--hope struggling against fear, and fear remaining
victor,--conjuring up a thousand wild, improbable events, and missing
the true one; and, in short, making his bosom a _hell_ wherein to
torment his own heart.

Thus did Claude de Blenau, during that lapse of time which the Governor
might reasonably be supposed to be occupied in the duties of his office.
But when a longer time passed, and still no news arrived of Pauline's
escape, the uncertainty became too great for mortal endurance; and he
was about to risk all, by descending into the court through the turret,
when the challenge of the sentinel announced the approach of some one,
and in the next moment the Governor entered the room, his pale features
flushed with anger, and his lip quivering with ill-subdued rage.

"Monsieur de Blenau!" said he, in a tone that he had never before
presumed to use towards his wealthy prisoner, "here is something wrong.
There has been a woman in the prison to-night, passing for that rascal
Woodman's daughter: and I am given to understand, that she has brought
either letter or message to you. But I will ascertain the truth--By
Heaven! I will ascertain the truth!"

"Have you detained her, then?" exclaimed De Blenau, losing all caution
in his fears for Pauline.

"Oh, ho! Monsieur le Comte," said the Governor, fixing on him his keen
and angry eye; "then you do know that she has been here? But do you
know, Sir, that it may cost me my head?"

"Very possibly, if you tell any body," replied De Blenau; who by this
time had recovered his self-possession, and had, upon reconsideration,
drawn from the Governor's speech a different conclusion from that which
he had formed at first; feeling sure, that if Pauline had not escaped,
his anger would have taken a calmer form. "Listen to me, Sir Governor,"
continued he firmly, after having determined in his own mind the line of
conduct which he ought to pursue: "let us deal straightforwardly towards
each other, and like friends as we have hitherto done. We are both in
some degree in each other's power. On your part, do not attempt to
entrap me into any acknowledgment, and I will show you that I will not
make use of any advantage you may have given me----"

"I do not understand your meaning, Sir," cried the Governor, still
angrily: "I have given you no advantage. By Heaven! I will have the
apartment searched;--ay, Sir, and your person too."

"Will you so?" replied De Blenau, coolly drawing from his bosom the
Queen's billet, and approaching the edge to the lamp so that it caught
fire. The Governor started forward to seize it; but the strong arm of
the Count held him at a distance, till the few lines the Queen had
written were irretrievably destroyed; and then freeing him from his
grasp, he pointed to a chair, saying, "Now, Monsieur le Gouverneur, sit
down and listen to a few words of common sense." The Governor placed
himself in the chair with a look of bitter malignity; but this softened
down gradually into an expression of thoughtful cunning, as De Blenau
proceeded--"Thus stands the case," said the Count; "I was committed to
your charge, I think, with positive orders not to allow me communication
with any person whatsoever--was it not so?" The Governor assented: "It
so happened, however," continued the Count with a smile, "that at our
very first interview, you conceived a friendship for me of the most
liberal and disinterested nature," (the Governor bit his lip,) "a sort
of love at first sight; and, for the sake of my accommodation, you not
only broke through the positive commands of the Cardinal Prime Minister,
in suffering me once to have communication with another person, but
allowed such to take place at all times, according to my pleasure; and
also took especial pains to procure the attendance of the person I
wished, paying him with my money, for which, and other excellent
purposes, you have, within the space of six days, received from me
upwards of one thousand crowns."

The Governor winced most desperately; and fully convinced, that a tale
so told, would readily convey his head under the axe of the executioner,
if it reached the ears of Richelieu, he cursed himself for a fool, De
Blenau for a knave, and Philip the woodman for something between the
two; most devoutly wishing both the others at the Devil, so he could
slip his own neck out of the halter.

De Blenau, without much skill in reading the mind's construction by the
face, easily divined what was passing in his companion's bosom; and
perceiving him to be much in the situation of a lame dog, he resolved
still to apply the lash a little, before he helped him over the stile.
"Well, Sir Governor," continued he; "now we will suppose, as a mere
hypothesis to reason upon, that, through this very liberty which your
disinterested kindness has allowed me, I have received those
communications from without, which it was the Cardinal's great object to
prevent. How ought you to act under such circumstances? Ought you to go
to the stern, unrelenting Richelieu, and say to him,--'May it please
your Eminence, I have intentionally and wilfully broken through every
order you gave me--I have taken the utmost pains that they should not be
observed; and I have so far succeeded in thwarting your designs, that
Monsieur de Blenau, from whom I have received one thousand crowns, and
from whom I expect a thousand more the moment he is liberated--I say,
that this good friend of mine, and your enemy, has gained all the
information which you wished to prevent,'--This would be a pretty
confession of faith!"

De Blenau paused, and the Governor bit his lip; but after a moment, he
looked the Count full in the face, and replied, "Perhaps it might be the
best way."

De Blenau, however, was not to be deceived; he saw terror in the deadly
hue of the Governor's pale cheek, and the anxious rolling of his sunken
eye, and he went on--"Perhaps it might be the best way--to have your
head struck off without delay; for what would your confession avail the
Cardinal now, after the mischief is done?--Would it not be better to say
to yourself,--'Here is a young nobleman, whom I believe to be
innocent--for whom I have a regard--whom I have served already, and who
is both willing and able to reward any one who does serve him; and who,
lastly, will never betray me, let happen what will. Under these
circumstances, should I not be a fool of the first water, to inquire
into a matter, the truth of which I am very unlikely to discover, and
which, if I do, it will be my duty to disclose: whereas, standing as the
affair does now, without my knowledge in the least, my ignorance makes
my innocence, and I betray no one. Even supposing that the whole be
found out, I am no worse than I was before, for the story can but be
told at last; while, if the Count be liberated, which most likely he
will, instead of losing my office, or my head, I shall gain a thousand
crowns to indemnify me for all the trouble I have had, and shall ensure
his friendship for life.' Now, Monsieur le Gouverneur, this is what you
ought to say to yourself. In my opinion, the strength of argument is all
on one side. Even if there were any thing to know, you would be a fool
to investigate it, where you must of necessity be your own accuser;
where all is to be lost, and nothing can be gained."

"You argue well, Monsieur de Blenau," answered the Governor,
thoughtfully; "and your reasoning would be convincing, if it extended to
all the circumstances of the case. But you do not know one half;--you do
not know, that Chavigni, from whose eyes nothing seems hidden, knew of
this girl's coming, and sent me an order to detain her, which that
sottish fool the Porter never gave me till she had escaped--How am I to
get over that, pray?"

"Then, positively, she has escaped?" demanded De Blenau.

"Yes, yes, she has escaped!" replied the Governor pettishly: "you seem
to consider nothing but her; but, let me tell you, Monsieur de Blenau,
that you are fully as much concerned as I am, for if they discover that
she has got in, you will have a touch of the _peine forte et dure_, to
make you confess who she is, and what she came for."

"Truly, I know not what can be done," answered the Count. "Chavigni
seems to know all about it."

"No, no! he does not know all," replied the Governor; "for he says here,
in his note, that if a young lady dressed in a _jupe_ of red serge, with
a black bodice, comes to the gate of the prison, asking any thing
concerning the Count de Blenau, we are to detain her: now she never
mentioned your name, and, God knows, I heeded not what she was dressed
in."

"Then the matter is very simple," replied the Count; "no such person as
he bade you detain, has been here. This is no matter of honour between
man and man, where you are bound to speak your suspicions as well as
your knowledge. No person has come to the gate of the prison asking any
thing concerning me; and so answer Chavigni."

"But the Porter, Monsieur de Blenau," said the officer, anxiously,--"he
may peach. All the other dependents on the prison are my own, placed by
me, and would turn out were I to lose my office; but this porter was
named by the Cardinal himself.--What is to be done with him?"

"Oh! fear not him," answered De Blenau; "as his negligence was the cause
of your not receiving the order in time to render it effectual, your
silence will be a favour to him."

"True! true!" cried the Governor, rubbing his hands with all the rapture
of a man suddenly relieved from a mortal embarrassment: "True! true!
I'll go and bully him directly--I'll threaten to inform the Cardinal,
and Chavigni, and the whole Council; and then--when he begins to fancy
that he feels the very rope round his neck--I'll relent, and be
charitable, and agree to conceal his mistake, and to swear that the lady
never came.--How will Chavigni know? She will never confess it herself,
and at that hour it was too dark for any one to watch her up to the
gates.--_Morbleu!_ that will do precisely."

"I see little or no danger attending upon it," said the prisoner; "and,
at all events, it is a great deal better than conveying your neck into
the noose, which you would certainly do by confessing to Richelieu the
circumstances as they have occurred."

"Well, well, we will risk it, at all events," replied the Governor, who,
though not quite free from apprehension respecting the result, had now
regained his usual sweet complacency of manner. "But one thing, Monsieur
de Blenau, I am sure you will promise me; namely, that this attempt
shall never be repeated, even if occasion should occur: and for the
rest--with regard to your never betraying me, and other promises which
your words imply, I will trust to your honour."

De Blenau readily agreed to what the Governor required, and repeated his
promises never to disclose any thing that had occurred, and to reward
his assistance with a thousand crowns, upon being liberated. Mindful of
all who served him, he did not forget Philip the woodman; and deeply
thankful for the escape of Pauline, was the more anxious to ascertain
the fate of one who had so greatly contributed to the success of her
enterprise.

"Speak not of him! speak not of him!" exclaimed the Governor, breaking
forth into passion at De Blenau's inquiries. "This same skilful plotter
attends upon you no longer. You will suffer some inconvenience for your
scheme; but it is your fault, not mine, and you must put up with it as
best you may."

"That I care not about," replied De Blenau. "But I insist upon it that
he be treated with no severity. Mark me, Monsieur le Gouverneur: if I
find that he is ill used, Chavigni shall hear of the whole business. I
will risk any thing sooner than see a man suffer from his kindness for
me."

"You paid him well, of course," said the Governor, drawing up his lip,
"and he must take his chance. However, do not alarm yourself for him: he
shall be taken care of--only, with your good leave, Seigneur Comte, you
and he do not meet again within the walls of the Bastille.--But in the
name of Heaven! what clatter is this at the door?" he exclaimed,
starting from his chair, at a most unusual noise which proceeded from
the staircase.

The Governor, indeed, had good reason to be astonished; for never was
there a more strange and inconsistent sound heard within the walls of a
prison, than that which saluted their ears. First came the "_Qui vive?_"
of the sentinel; to which a voice roared out, "_Le Diable!_" "_Qui
vive?_" cried the sentinel again, in a still sharper key. The answer to
this was nothing but a clatter, as the Governor had expressed it, such
as we might suppose produced by the blowing up of a steam-kitchen: then
followed the discharge of the sentinel's firelock; and then sundry blows
given and received upon some hard and sonorous substance, mingled with
various oaths, execrations, and expletives then in use amongst the lower
classes of his Christian Majesty's lieges, making altogether a most
deafening din.

At this sound the Governor, as little able to conceive whence it
originated as De Blenau himself, drew his sword, and throwing open the
door, discovered the redoubtable Jacques Chatpilleur, _Cuisinier
Aubergiste_, striding in triumph over the prostrate body of the
sentinel, and waving over his head an immense stew-pan, being the
weapon with which he had achieved the victory, and through which
appeared a small round hole, caused by the ball of the soldier's
firelock. In the mean while was to be seen the sentinel on the ground,
his iron morion actually dented by the blows of his adversary, and his
face and garments bedabbled, not with blood, indeed, but with the
_Poulet en blanquette_ and its white sauce, which had erst been tenant
of the stew-pan.

"Victoria! Victoria! Victoria!" shouted the _aubergiste_, waving his
stew-pan; "Twice have I conquered in one night! Can Mieleraye or
Bouillon say that? Victoria! Victoria!" But here his triumph received a
check; for looking into the unhappy utensil, he suddenly perceived the
loss of its contents, which had flown all over the place, the
treacherous lid having detached itself during his conflict with the
sentinel, and sought safety in flight down the stairs. "_Mon Poulet! mon
Poulet!_" exclaimed he, in a tone of bitter despair, "_le nid y est,
mais l'oiseau est parti_,--the nest is there, but the bird is flown.
_Helas, mon Poulet! mon pauvre Poulet!_" and quitting the body of his
prostrate foe, he advanced into the apartment with that sort of zig-zag
motion which showed that the thin sinewy shanks which supported his
woodcock-shaped upper man, were somewhat affected by a more than usual
quantity of the generous grape.

The whole scene was so inexpressibly ludicrous, that De Blenau burst
into an immoderate fit of laughter, in which the Governor could not help
joining, notwithstanding his indignation at the treatment the sentinel
had experienced. Recovering himself, however, he poured forth his wrath
upon the _aubergiste_ in no measured terms, demanding how he dared to
conduct himself so in the Royal Chateau of the Bastille, and what had
become of the Count de Blenau's supper, adding a few qualificatory
epithets, which may as well be omitted.

"_Eh bien, Monsieur! Eh bien!_" cried the _aubergiste_, with very little
respect for the Governor: "as for the gentleman there, lying on his
belly, he ought to have let me in, and not fired his piece at me. He
knew me well enough. He might have cried _Qui vive?_ once,--that was
well, as it is the etiquette."

"But why did you not answer him, _sacré maraud_?" cried the Governor.

"I did answer him," replied the other, stoutly. "He cried _Qui vive?_
and I answered _Le Diable, car le Diable vive toujours_. And as for the
supper, I have lost it all. _Je l'ai perdu entre deux mâtins._ The first
was a greedy Norman vagabond, who feeds at my auberge; and while I was
out for a minute, he whips me up my _matelot d'anguille_ from out of the
_casserole_, and my _dinde piquée_ from the spit, and when I came back
five minutes after, there was nothing left but bare bones and empty
bottles. Pardie! And now I have bestowed on the head of that varlet a
_poulet en blanquette_ that might have comforted the stomach of a King.
_Oh Dieu! Dieu! mes malheurs ne finiront jamais._ Oh! but I forgot," he
continued, "there is still a _fricandeau à l'oseille_ with a cold
_paté_, that will do for want of a better.--_Monseigneur, votre
serviteur_," and he bowed five or six times to De Blenau; "_Monsieur le
Gouverneur, votre très humble_," and bowing round and round to every
one, even to the sentinel, who by this time was beginning to recover his
feet, the tipsy _aubergiste_ staggered off, escaping the wrath of the
Governor by the promise of the _fricandeau_, but not, however, without
being threatened with punishment on the morrow.

CHAPTER XII.

     The bureau of a Counsellor of State, or how things were managed in
     1642.

"Marteville, you have served me essentially," said the Count de Chavigni
as soon as he had left Pauline in what was called the ladies' hall of
the Hotel de Bouthilliers, addressing the tall Norman, whom the reader
has already recognised beyond a doubt. "You know I never suffer any good
service to go without its reward; therefore I will now pay you yours,
more especially as I have fresh demands to make upon your zeal. Let us
see how our accounts stand;" and approaching a small table, which served
both for the purposes of a writing-desk and also to support a strong
ebony cabinet clasped with silver, he drew forth a bunch of keys and
opened a drawer plated with iron, which contained a quantity of gold and
silver coin. Chavigni then seated himself at the table, and the Norman
standing on his right hand, they began regularly to balance accounts,
the items of the Norman's charge being various services of rather a
curious nature.

"For stopping the Archduke's courier," said Chavigni, "and taking from
him his despatches--fifty crowns is enough for that."

"I demand no more," said Marteville; "any common thief could have done
it."

"But, by the way, I hope you did not hurt him, for he came with a safe
conduct."

"Hurt him! no," replied the Norman: "we are the best friends in the
world. When I met him on the road, I told him civilly that I must have
his despatches; and that I would either cut his throat or drink a bottle
with him, whichever he liked: so he chose the latter, and when we
parted, he promised to give me notice the next time he came on the same
errand."

"The rascal!" said Chavigni, "that is the way we are served. But now we
come to this business of the Count de Blenau--what do you expect for the
whole concern?"

"Nay but, Monseigneur, you forget," exclaimed the other; "there is one
little item before that. Put down,--for being an Astrologer."

"Why, I have given you fifty crowns on that account already," rejoined
the Statesman; "you are exorbitant, Seigneur Marteville."

"That fifty crowns went for my expenses--all of it," replied the other.
"There was my long black robe all covered with gimcracks; there was my
leathern belt, painted with all the signs under heaven; there was my
white beard, and wig, which cost me ten good crowns at the shop of
Jansen the Peruquier: besides the harness of my horse, which was made to
suit, and my Astrologer's bonnet, which kept all fast upon my head.
Now, Monseigneur, you cannot give me less than fifty crowns, for being
out two nights, and running the risk of being burnt alive."

"I think not," said Chavigni, "so let that pass. But to come to the
other business."

"Why, first and foremost," replied the Norman, marking each article as
he named it, by laying the index of his right hand upon one of the
immense fingers of his left,--"For making love to Mademoiselle's maid."

"Nay, nay, nay!" cried Chavigni, "this is too much. That must be part of
the dower I have promised with her, of which we will talk presently. But
have you married her?"

"No," answered the Norman, "not yet. We will see about that hereafter."

Chavigni's cheek reddened, and his brow knit into a heavy frown. "No
evasions, Sir. I commanded you, when you took her away last night from
Chantilly, to marry her directly, and you agreed to do so. Why is it not
done?"

"If the truth must be told, Monseigneur, it is not done, because it goes
against a Norman gentleman's stomach to take up with any body's
cast-offs."

"Do not be insolent, Sir," cried the Statesman. "Did I not give you my
honour that your suspicion was false? Know, Sir, that though Chavigni
may sometimes condescend to converse with you, or may appear to trifle
for a moment with a girl like this Louise, it is merely to gain some
greater object that he does so; and that unless it be for some State
purpose, he never honours such beings with his thoughts."

"Well, well, Monseigneur," replied the other, seeing the fire that
flashed in his Lord's eye, "I will marry her: _Foy de Normand!_ Don't be
angry; I will marry her."

"_Foy de Normand!_ will not do," said Chavigni. "It must be this very
night."

"_Eh bien! Eh bien! Soit_," cried the Norman, and then muttered to
himself with a grin, "I've four wives now living; a fifth won't make
much difference."

"What murmur you, Sir?" demanded the Statesman. "Mark me! in one hour
from hence you will find a priest and two witnesses in the Cardinal's
chapel! When you are married, the priest will give you a certificate of
the ceremony, carry it to my intendant, and upon the sight of it he will
pay you the sum we agree upon. Now, proceed with your demands."

"Well then, Monseigneur," continued Marteville, "what is the information
concerning Mademoiselle's coming to Paris worth?"

"It is worth a good deal," replied Chavigni, "and I will always pay more
for knowledge of that kind than any acts of brute force. Set that down
for a hundred crowns, and fifty more for catching the young lady, and
bringing her here; making altogether two hundred and fifty."

"Yes, Sir, yes; but the _dot_--the dowry you mentioned," cried the
Norman. "You have forgot that."

"No, I have not," replied Chavigni. "In favour of Louise, I will make
the sum up one thousand crowns, which you will receive the moment you
have married her."

"Oh! I'll marry her directly, if that be the case," cried the Norman.
"_Morbleu!_ that makes all the difference."

"But treat her kindly," said Chavigni. "With the stipend of a thousand
crowns, which I allow you yearly, and what you can gain by particular
services, you may live very well; and perhaps I may add some little
gratification, if you please me in your conduct towards your wife."

"Oh! I'll be the tenderest husband living," cried the Norman, "since my
gratification depends upon her's. But I'll run and fetch her to be
married directly, if you will send the Priest, Monseigneur."

"Nay, stop a moment," said the Statesman. "You forget that I told you I
had other journeys for you to take, and other services for you to
perform."

"No, Sir," answered the Norman, "all is prepared to set out this very
night, if you will tell me my errand."

Chavigni paused for a moment, and remained in deep thought, gnawing his
lip as if embarrassed by doubts as to the best manner of proceeding.
"Mark me, Marteville," said he at length: "there are two or three sorts
of scoundrels in the world, amongst whom I do not look upon you as the
least." The Norman bowed with the utmost composure, very well aware of
the place he held in Chavigni's opinion. "There are, however, some good
points about you," continued the Statesman; at which Marteville bowed
again. "You would rob, kill, and plunder, I believe, without remorse,
any one you hated or did not care about; but I do not think you would
forget a kindness or betray a trust."

"Never!" said the Norman: "red-hot pincers will not tear from me what is
intrusted to my honour."

"So be it, then, in the present instance," said Chavigni; "for I am
obliged to give you the knowledge of some things, and to enter into
explanations with you, which I do not often do with any one. You must
know, then, I have information that on the same day that Monsieur de
Cinq Mars set out from Chantilly with Monsieur de Thou, the Duke of
Orleans, with Montressor and St. Ibal, took their departure from
Moulins, and the Count de Fontrailles from Paris. They all journeyed
towards the same point in Champagne. I can trace Fontrailles to Troyes,
the Duke and his companions to Villeneuve, and Cinq Mars and De Thou to
Nogent, but no farther. All this might be accidental, but there are
circumstances that create suspicion in my mind. Cinq Mars, when he set
forth, gave out that he went to his estate near Troyes, in which I find
he never set his foot; and when he returned, his conference with Louis
was somewhat long. It might have been of hawks and hounds, it is true;
but after it, the King's manner both to the Cardinal and myself was cold
and haughty, and he suddenly took this resolution of coming to Paris
himself to examine into the case of the young Count de Blenau:--in
short, I suspect that some plot is on foot. What I require of you then
is, to hasten down to Champagne; try to trace each of these persons, and
discover if they had a conference, and where; find out the business that
brought each of them so far, examine their track as you would the slot
of a deer, and give me whatever information you collect; employ every
means to gain a thorough knowledge of all their proceedings--force,
should it be required--but let that be the last thing used. Here is this
signet, upon the sight of which all the agents of Government in the
different towns and villages will communicate with you." And he drew
from his finger a small seal ring, which the Norman consigned to his
pocket, his hands being somewhat too large to admit of his wearing it in
the usual manner.

"The Duke of Orleans and his pack I know well," answered Marteville,
"and also Cinq Mars and De Thou; but this Count de Fontrailles--what
like is he, Monseigneur?"

"He is a little ugly mean-looking man," replied Chavigni; "he frequently
dresses himself in grey, and looks like a sorcerer. Make him your first
object; for if ever there was a devil of cunning upon earth, it is
Fontrailles, and he is at the bottom of the plot if there be one."

"You traced him to Troyes, you say, Monseigneur? Had he any pretence of
business there?"

"None," answered Chavigni; "my account says that he had no attendants
with him, lodged at the _Auberge du Grand Soleil_, and was poorly
dressed."

"I will trace him if he were the Devil himself," said the Norman; "and
before I see you again, Monseigneur, I shall be able to account for each
of these gentry."

"If you do," said Chavigni, "a thousand crowns is your reward; and if
you discover any plot or treasonable enterprise, so that by your means
they may be foiled and brought to justice, the thousand shall grow into
ten thousand, and you shall have a place that will give you a life of
luxury."

The Norman's eyes sparkled at the anticipation, and his imagination
pourtrayed himself and his five wives living together in celestial
harmony, drinking the best vintages of Burgundy and Epernay, eating of
the fat of the land, and singing like mad. These blissful ideas were
first interrupted by the sound of horses' feet in the court. "Hark!"
cried Chavigni, "they are putting the horses to the carriage; go down,
and see that all be prepared for the young lady's journey."

"Instantly," answered the Norman, "and after that I will carry Louise to
the Priest, finger your Lordship's cash, and we will set off for
Troyes."

"Do you intend to take her with you?" demanded Chavigni, in some
surprise.

"Nay, my Lord, you would not wish me to leave my bride on our wedding
night, surely," replied the Norman, in a mock sentimental tone. "But the
truth is, I think she may be useful. Woman's wit will often find a way
where man's wisdom looks in vain; and as I have now, thanks to your
bounty, two good horses, I shall e'en set Louise upon one of them, and
with the bridle rein over my arm lead her to Brie, where, with your good
leave, we will sleep, and thence on upon our journey. Travelling with a
woman, no one will suspect my real object, and I shall come sooner at my
purpose."

"Well, so be it then," answered the Statesman. "You are now, as you
wished to be, intrusted with an affair of more importance than stopping
a courier, or carrying off a weak girl; and as the reward is greater, so
would be the punishment in case you were to betray your trust. I rely on
your honour; but let me hint at the same time, that there is such a
thing as the rack, which has more than once been applied to persons who
reveal State secrets. Keep good account of your expenses, and such as
are truly incurred for the Government, the Government wall pay."

Thus ended the conference between Chavigni and the Norman, neither of
whom we shall follow much farther in this volume. Of Chavigni it is only
necessary to say, that immediately after the departure of Pauline he
proceeded to the Louvre to wait the arrival of Louis the Thirteenth, who
soon after entered Paris, accompanied by the Queen, Cinq Mars, and all
the usual attendants of the court, and followed by the Cardinal and
those members of the Council who had not previously arrived along with
Chavigni.

In regard to the Norman, inspired by the agreeable prospect of a
thousand crowns, he was not long in visiting the Chapel of the Palais
Cardinal, where the Priest speedily united him to a black-eyed damsel
that he brought in his hand. Who this was, it does not suit me to
discover to the reader. If he have found it out already, I cannot help
it; but if he have not, I vow and protest that in the whole course of
this true history I will afford him no farther explanation; no, not even
in the last sentence of the last page of the last volume.

Immediately after their marriage the Norman put his bride upon horseback
and proceeded to Brie, each carrying behind them a valise, containing a
variety of articles which would doubtless greatly edify the reader to
learn, but which unfortunately cannot now be detailed at full length,
the schedule having been lost some years after by one of their
collateral descendants in the great fire of London, where it had found
its way in consequence of the revocation of the edict of Nantes. All
that can be affirmed with certainty is, that in the valise of the Norman
were three shirts and a half with falling collars, according to the
fashion of that day; a pourpoint or doublet of blue velvet, (which was
his best,) and a cloak to match; also (of the same stuff) a
_haut-de-chausses_, which was a machine then used for the same purpose
as a pair of breeches now-a-days; and over and above all the rest was
his Astrologer's robe and grey beard, folded round a supernumerary brace
of pistols, and a small stiletto. Into the Lady's wardrobe we shall not
inquire: suffice it to say, that it accompanied its mistress safe from
Brie to Troyes, where, putting up at the _Grand Soleil_, the Norman
began his perquisitions concerning Fontrailles.

Now having left all my friends and acquaintances at sixes and sevens, I
shall close this volume; and if the reader be interested in their fate,
he may go on to the next, in which I mean utterly to annihilate them
all, leaving nothing behind but the sole of the Count de Blenau's shoe,
with FINIS at the bottom of the page.

                       END OF THE SECOND VOLUME.

                                LONDON:
                     PRINTED BY S. AND R. BENTLEY,
                      Dorset Street, Fleet Street.

Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

aud the servant again=> and the servant again {pg 118}