CHAPTER VI. MY MOTHER'S LODGING.
Travelling by way of Chatelherault and Tours, we reached theneighbourhood of Blois a little after noon on the third day withoutmisadventure or any intimation of pursuit. The Norman proved himselfa cheerful companion on the road, as I already knew him to be a man ofsense and shrewdness while his presence rendered the task of keepingmy men in order an easy one. I began to consider the adventure aspractically achieved; and regarding Mademoiselle de la Vire as alreadyin effect transferred to the care of M. de Rosny, I ventured to turn mythoughts to the development of my own plans and the choice of a haven inwhich I might rest secure from the vengeance of M. de Turenne.
For the moment I had evaded his pursuit, and, assisted by the confusioncaused everywhere by the death of Guise had succeeded in thwarting hisplans and affronting his authority with seeming ease. But I knew toomuch of his power and had heard too many instances of his fierce temperand resolute will to presume on short impunity or to expect the futurewith anything but diffidence and dismay.
The exclamations of my companions on coming within sight of Bloisaroused me from these reflections. I joined them, and fully shared theiremotion as I gazed on the stately towers which had witnessed so manyroyal festivities, and, alas! one royal tragedy; which had shelteredLouis the Well-beloved and Francis the Great, and rung with the laughterof Diana of Poitiers and the second Henry. The play of fancy wreathedthe sombre building with a hundred memories grave and gay. But, thoughthe rich plain of the Loire still swelled upward as of old in gentlehomage at the feet of the gallant town, the shadow of crime seemed todarken all, and dim even the glories of the royal standard which hungidly in the air.
We had heard so many reports of the fear and suspicion which reigned inthe city and of the strict supervision which was exercised over allwho entered--the king dreading a repetition of the day of theBarricades--that we halted at a little inn a mile short of the gateand broke up our company. I parted from my Norman friend with mutualexpressions of esteem, and from my own men, whom I had paid off in themorning, complimenting each of them with a handsome present, with afeeling of relief equally sincere. I hoped--but the hope was not fatedto be gratified--that I might never see the knaves again.
It wanted less than an hour of sunset when I rode up to the gate, a fewpaces in front of mademoiselle and her woman; as if I had really beenthe intendant for whom the horse-dealer had mistaken me. We found theguardhouse lined with soldiers, who scanned us very narrowly as weapproached, and whose stern features and ordered weapons showed thatthey were not there for mere effect. The fact, however, that we camefrom Tours, a city still in the king's hands, served to allay suspicion,and we passed without accident.
Once in the streets, and riding in single file between the houses,to the windows of which the townsfolk seemed to be attracted by theslightest commotion, so full of terror was the air, I experienced amoment of huge relief. This was Blois--Blois at last. We were within afew score yards of the Bleeding Heart. In a few minutes I should receivea quittance, and be free to think only of myself.
Nor was my pleasure much lessened by the fact that I was so soon topart from Mademoiselle de la Vire. Frankly, I was far from liking her.Exposure to the air of a court had spoiled, it seemed to me, whatevergraces of disposition the young lady had ever possessed. She stillmaintained, and had maintained throughout the journey, the cold andsuspicious attitude assumed at starting; nor had she ever expressedthe least solicitude on my behalf, or the slightest sense that we wereincurring danger in her service. She had not scrupled constantly toprefer her whims to the common advantage, and even safety; while hersense of self-importance had come to be so great, that she seemed tohold herself exempt from the duty of thanking any human creature. Icould not deny that she was beautiful--indeed, I often thought, whenwatching her, of the day when I had seen her in the King of Navarre'santechamber in all the glory of her charms. But I felt none the lessthat I could turn my back on her--leaving her in safety--without regret;and be thankful that her path would never again cross mine.
With such thoughts in my breast I turned the corner of the Rue deSt. Denys and came at once upon the Bleeding Heart, a small butdecent-looking hostelry situate near the end of the street and oppositea church. A bluff grey-haired man, who was standing in the doorway, cameforward as we halted, and looking curiously at mademoiselle asked what Ilacked; adding civilly that the house was full and they had no sleepingroom, the late events having drawn a great assemblage to Blois.
'I want only an address,' I answered, leaning from the saddle andspeaking in a low voice that I might not be overheard by the passers-by.'The Baron de Rosny is in Blois, is he not?'
The man started at the name of the Huguenot leader, and looked round himnervously. But, seeing that no one was very near us, he answered: 'Hewas, sir; but he left town a week ago and more. 'There have been strangedoings here, and M. de Rosny thought that the climate suited him ill.'
He said this with so much meaning, as well as concern that he should notbe overheard, that, though I was taken aback and bitterly disappointed,I succeeded in restraining all exclamations and even show of feeling.After a pause of dismay, I asked whither M. de Rosny had gone.
'To Rosny,' was the answer.
'And Rosny?'
'Is beyond Chartres, pretty well all the way to Mantes,' the mananswered, stroking my horse's neck. 'Say thirty leagues.'
I turned my horse, and hurriedly communicated what he said tomademoiselle, who was waiting a few paces away. Unwelcome to me, thenews was still less welcome to her. Her chagrin and indignation knew nobounds. For a moment words failed her, but her flashing eyes said morethan her tongue as she cried to me: 'Well, sir, and what now? Is thisthe end of your fine promises? Where is your Rosny, if all be not alying invention of your own?'
Feeling that she had some excuse I suppressed my choler, and humblyrepeating that Rosny was at his house, two days farther on, and that Icould see nothing for it but to go to him, I asked the landlord where wecould find a lodging for the night.
'Indeed, sir, that is more than I can say,' he answered, lookingcuriously at us, and thinking, I doubt not, that with my shabby cloakand fine horse, and mademoiselle's mask and spattered riding-coat,we were an odd couple. 'There is not an inn which is not full to thegarrets--nay, and the stables; and, what is more, people are chary oftaking strangers in. These are strange times. They say,' be continued ina lower tone, 'that the old queen is dying up there, and will not lastthe night.'
I nodded. 'We must go somewhere' I said.
'I would help you if I could,' he answered, shrugging his shoulders.'But there it is! Blois is full from the tiles to the cellars.'
My horse shivered under me, and mademoiselle, whose patience was gone,cried harshly to me to do something. 'We cannot spend the night in thestreets,' she said fiercely.
I saw that she was worn out and scarcely mistress of herself. The lightwas falling, and with it some rain. The reek of the kennels and theclose air from the houses seemed to stifle us. The bell at the churchbehind us was jangling out vespers. A few people, attracted by thesight of our horses standing before the inn, had gathered round and werewatching us.
Something I saw must be done, and done quickly. In despair, and seeingno other resort, I broached a proposal of which I had not hithertoeven dreamed. 'Mademoiselle,' I said bluntly, 'I must take you to mymother's.'
'To your mother's, sir?' she cried, rousing herself. Her voice rang withhaughty surprise.
'Yes,' I replied brusquely; 'since, as you say, we cannot spend thenight in the streets, and I do not know where else I can dispose of you.From the last advices I had I believe her to have followed the courthither. My friend,' I continued, turning to the landlord, 'do you knowby name a Madame de Bonne, who should be in Blois?'
'A Madame de Bonne!' he muttered, reflecting. 'I have heard the namelately. Wait a moment.' Disappearing into the house, he returned almostimmediately, followed by a lanky pale-faced youth wearing a tatteredblack soutane. 'Y
es,' he said nodding, 'there is a worthy lady of thatname lodging in the next street, I am told. As it happens, this youngman lives in the same house, and will guide you, if you like.'
I assented, and, thanking him for his information, turned my horse andrequested the youth to lead the way. We had scarcely passed the cornerof the street, however, and entered one somewhat more narrow and lessfrequented, when mademoiselle, who was riding behind me, stopped andcalled to me. I drew rein, and, turning, asked what it was.
'I am not coming,' she said, her voice trembling slightly, but whetherwith alarm or anger I could not determine. 'I know nothing of you, andI--I demand to be taken to M. de Rosny.'
'If you cry that name aloud in the streets of Blois, mademoiselle,' Iretorted, 'you are like enough to be taken whither you will not care togo! As for M. de Rosny, I have told you that he is not here. He has goneto his seat at Mantes.'
'Then take me to him!'
'At this hour of the night?' I said drily. 'It is two days' journey fromhere.'
'Then I will go to an inn,' she replied sullenly.
'You have heard that there is no room in the inns' I rejoined with whatpatience I could. 'And to go from inn to inn at this hour might lead usinto trouble. I can assure you that I am as much taken aback by M. deRosny's absence as you are. For the present, we are close to my mother'slodging, and--'
'I know nothing of your mother!' she exclaimed passionately, her voiceraised. 'You have enticed me hither by false pretences, sir, and I willendure it no longer. I will--'
'What you will do, I do not know then, mademoiselle,' I replied, quiteat my wits' end; for what with the rain and the darkness, the unknownstreets--in which our tarrying might at any moment collect a crowd--andthis stubborn girl's opposition, I knew not whither to turn. 'For mypart I can suggest nothing else. It does not become me to speak of mymother,' I continued, 'or I might say that even Mademoiselle de la Vireneed not be ashamed to accept the hospitality of Madame de Bonne. Norare my mother's circumstances,' I added proudly, 'though narrow, so meanas to deprive her of the privileges of her birth.'
My last words appeared to make some impression upon my companion. Sheturned and spoke to her woman, who replied in a low voice, tossing herhead the while and glaring at me in speechless indignation. Had therebeen anything else for it, they would doubtless have flouted my offerstill; but apparently Fanchette could suggest nothing, and presentlymademoiselle, with a sullen air, bade me lead on.
Taking this for permission, the lanky youth in the black soutane, whohad remained at my bridle throughout the discussion, now listeningand now staring, nodded and resumed his way; and I followed. Afterproceeding a little more than fifty yards he stopped before amean-looking doorway, flanked by grated windows, and fronted by a loftywall which I took to be the back of some nobleman's garden. The streetat this point was unlighted, and little better than an alley; nor wasthe appearance of the house, which was narrow and ill-looking, thoughlofty, calculated, as far as I could make it out is the darkness,to allay mademoiselle's suspicions. Knowing, however, that people ofposition are often obliged in towns to lodge in poor houses, I thoughtnothing of this, and only strove to get mademoiselle dismounted asquickly as possible. The lad groped about and found two rings beside thedoor, and to these I tied up the horses. Then, bidding him lead the way,and begging mademoiselle to follow, I plunged into the darkness of thepassage and felt my way to the foot of the staircase, which was entirelyunlighted, and smelled close and unpleasant.
'Which floor?' I asked my guide.
'The fourth,' he answered quietly.
'Morbleu!' I muttered, as I began to ascend, my hand on the wall. 'Whatis the meaning of this?'
For I was perplexed. The revenues of Marsac, though small, should havekept my mother, whom I had last seen in Paris before the Nemoursedict, in tolerable comfort--such modest comfort, at any rate, as couldscarcely be looked for in such a house as this--obscure, ill-tended,unlighted. To my perplexity was added, before I reached the top ofthe stairs, disquietude--disquietude on her account as well as onmademoiselle's. I felt that something was wrong, and would have givenmuch to recall the invitation I had pressed on the latter.
What the young lady thought herself I could pretty well guess, as Ilistened to her hurried breathing at my shoulder. With every step Iexpected her to refuse to go farther. But, having once made up hermind, she followed me stubbornly, though the darkness was such thatinvoluntarily I loosened my dagger, and prepared to defend myself shouldthis turn out to be a trap.
We reached the top, however, without accident. Our guide knocked softlyat a door and immediately opened it without waiting for an answer. Afeeble light shone out on the stair-head, and bending my head, for thelintel was low, I stepped into the room.
I advanced two paces and stood looking about me in angry bewilderment.The bareness of extreme poverty marked everything on which my eyesrested. A cracked earthenware lamp smoked and sputtered on a stool inthe middle of the rotting floor. An old black cloak nailed to the wall,and flapping to and fro in the draught like some dead gallowsbird, hungin front of the unglazed window. A jar in a corner caught the drippingsfrom a hole in the roof. An iron pot and a second stool--the lattercasting a long shadow across the floor--stood beside the handful of woodashes, which smouldered on the hearth. And that was all the furniture Isaw, except a bed which filled the farther end of the long narrow room,and was curtained off so as to form a kind of miserable alcove.
A glance sufficed to show me all this, and that the room was empty,or apparently empty. Yet I looked again and again, stupefied. At lastfinding my voice, I turned to the young man who had brought us hither,and with a fierce oath demanded of him what he meant.
He shrank back behind the open door, and yet; answered with a kind ofsullen surprise that I had asked for Madame de Bonne's, and this was it.
'Madame de Bonne's!' I muttered. 'This Madame de Bonne's!'
He nodded.
'Of course it is! And you know it!' mademoiselle hissed in my ear, hervoice, as she interposed, hoarse with passion. 'Don't think that you candeceive us any longer. We know all! This,' she continued, looking round,her cheeks scarlet, her eyes ablaze with scorn, 'is your mother's,is it! Your mother who has followed the court hither--whose means arenarrow, but not so small as to deprive her of the privileges of herrank! This is your mother's hospitality, is it? You are a cheat, sir!and a detected cheat! Let us begone! Let me go, sir, I say!'
Twice I had tried to stop the current of her words; but in vain. Nowwith anger which surpassed hers a hundredfold--for who, being a man,would hear himself misnamed before his mother?--I succeeded, 'Silence,mademoiselle!' I cried, my grasp on her wrist. 'Silence, I say! This ismy mother!'
And running forward to the bed, I fell on my knees beside it. A feeblehand had half withdrawn the curtain, and through the gap my mother'sstricken face looked out, a great fear stamped upon it.
A Gentleman of France: Being the Memoirs of Gaston de Bonne Sieur de Marsac Page 6
