Complete Works of Stanley J Weyman

by Stanley J Weyman

  “Ha!” I said; “a dangerous malcontent.”

  Boisrueil smiled. “He has lived a week out of the sunshine of his Majesty’s countenance, your excellency. After that, all things are possible.”

  This was my own estimate of the man, whom I took to be one of those smug, pliant self-seekers whom Courts and peace breed up. I could imagine no danger that could threaten the King from such a quarter; while curiosity inclined me to grant his request. As it happened, the deer the next day took us in the direction of Poissy, and the King, who was always itching to discuss with me the question of his projected marriage, and as constantly, since our long talk in the garden at Rennes, avoiding the subject when with me, bade me ride home with him. On coming within half a mile of Perrot’s I let fall his name, and in a very natural way suggested that the King should alight there for a few minutes.

  It was one of the things Henry delighted to do, for, endowed with the easiest manners, and able in a moment to exchange the formality of the Louvre for the freedom of the camp, he could give to such cheap favours their full value. He consented on the instant, therefore; and turning our horses into a by-road, we sauntered down it with no greater attendance than a couple of pages.

  The sun was near setting, and its rays, which still gilded the tree-tops, left the wood below pensive and melancholy. The house stood in a solitary place on the edge of the forest, half a mile from Poissy; and these two things had their effect on my mind. I began to wish that we had brought with us half a troop of horse, or at least two or three gentlemen; and, startled by the thought of the unknown chances to which, out of mere idle curiosity, I was exposing the King, I would gladly have turned back. But without explanation I could not do so; and while I hesitated Henry cried out gaily that we were there.

  A short avenue of limes led from the forest road to the door. I looked curiously before us as we rode under the trees, in some fear lest M. de Perrot’s preparations should discover my complicity, and apprise the King that he was expected. But so far was this from being the case that no one appeared; the house rose still and silent in the mellow light of sunset, and, for all that we could see, might have been the fabled palace of enchantment.

  “‘He is Jean de Nivelle’s dog; he runs away when you call him,’” the King quoted. “Get down, Rosny. We have reached the palace of the Sleeping Princess. It remains only to sound the horn, and—”

  I was in the act of dismounting, with my back to him, when his words came to this sudden stop. I turned to learn what caused it, and saw standing in the aperture of the wicket, which had been silently opened, a girl, little more than a child, of the most striking beauty. Surprise shone in her eyes, and shyness and alarm had brought the colour to her cheeks; while the level rays of the sun, which forced her to screen her eyes with one small hand, clothed her figure in a robe of lucent glory. I heard the King whistle low. Before I could speak he had flung himself from his horse and, throwing the reins to one of the pages, was bowing before her.

  “We were about to sound the horn, Mademoiselle,” he said, smiling.

  “The horn, Monsieur?” she exclaimed, opening her eyes in wonder, and staring at him with the prettiest face of astonishment.

  “Yes, Mademoiselle; to awaken the sleeping princess,” he rejoined. “But I see that she is already awake.”

  Through the innocence of her eyes flashed a sudden gleam of archness. “Monsieur flatters himself,” she said, with a smile that just revealed the whiteness of her teeth.

  It was such an answer as delighted the King; who loved, above all things, a combination of wit and beauty, and never for any long time wore the chains of a woman who did not unite sense to more showy attractions. From the effect which the grace and freshness of the girl had on me, I could judge in a degree of the impression made on him; his next words showed not only its depth, but that he was determined to enjoy the adventure to the full. He presented me to her as M. de Sage, and inquiring affectionately after Perrot, learned in a trice that she was his niece, not long from a convent at Loches; finally, begging to be allowed to rest awhile, he dropped a gallant hint that a cup of wine from her hands would be acceptable.

  All this, and her innocent doubt what she ought to do, thus brought face to face with two strange cavaliers, threw the girl into such a state of blushing confusion as redoubled her charms. It appeared that her uncle had been summoned unexpectedly to Marly, and had taken his son with him; and that the household had seized the occasion to go to a village FETE at Acheres. Only an old servant remained in the house; who presently appeared and took her orders. I saw from the man’s start of consternation that he knew the King; but a glance from Henry’s eyes bidding me keep up the illusion, I followed the fellow and charged him not to betray the King’s incognito. When I returned, I found that Mademoiselle had conducted her visitor to a grassy terrace which ran along the south side of the house, and was screened from the forest by an alley of apple trees, and from the east wind by a hedge of yew. Here, where the last rays of the sun threw sinuous shadows on the turf, and Paris seemed a million miles away, they were walking up and down, the sound of their laughter breaking the woodland silence. Mademoiselle had a fan, with which and an air of convent coquetry she occasionally shaded her eyes. The King carried his hat in his hand. It was such an adventure as he loved, with all his heart; and I stood a little way off, smiling, and thinking grimly of M. de Perrot.

  On a sudden, hearing a step behind me, I turned, and saw a young man in a riding-dress come quickly through an opening in the yew hedge. As I turned, he stopped; his jaw fell, and he stood rooted to the ground, gazing at the two on the terrace, while his face, which a moment before had worn an air of pleased expectancy, grew on a sudden dark with passion, and put on such a look as made me move towards him. Before I reached him, However, M. de Perrot himself appeared at his side. The young man flashed round on him. “MON DIEU, sir!” he cried, in a voice choked with anger; “I see it all now! I understand why I was carried away to Marly! I — but it shall not be! I swear it shall not!”

  Between him and me — for, needless to say, I, too, understood all — M. de Perrot was awkwardly placed. But he showed the presence of mind of the old courtier. “Silence, sir!” He exclaimed imperatively. “Do you not see M. de Rosny? Go to him at once and pay your respects to him, and request him to honour you with his protection. Or — I see that you are overcome by the honour which the King does us. Go, first, and change your dress. Go, boy!”

  The lad retired sullenly, and M. de Perrot, free to deal with me alone, approached me, smiling assiduously, and trying hard to hide some consciousness and a little shame under a mask of cordiality. “A thousand pardons, M. de Rosny,” he cried with effusion, “for an absence quite unpardonable. But I so little expected to see his Majesty after what you said, and—”

  “Are in no hurry to interrupt him now you are here,” I replied bluntly, determined that, whoever he deceived, he should not flatter himself he deceived me. “Pooh, man! I am not a fool,” I continued.

  “What is this?” he cried, with a desperate attempt to keep up the farce. “I don’t understand you!”

  “No, the shoe is on the other foot — I understand you,” I replied drily. “Chut, man!” I continued, “you don’t make a cats-paw of me. I see the game. You are for sitting in Madame de Sourdis’ seat, and giving your son a Hat, and your groom a Comptrollership, and your niece a—”

  “Hush, hush, M. de Rosny,” he muttered, turning white and red, and wiping his brow with his kerchief. “MON DIEU! your words might—”

  “If overheard, make things very unpleasant for M. de Perrot,” I said.

  “And M. de Rosny?”

  I shrugged my shoulders contemptuously. “Tush, man!” I said. “Do you think that I sit in no safer seat than that?”

  “Ah! But when Madame de Beaufort is Queen?” he said slily.

  “If she ever is,” I replied, affecting greater confidence than I at that time felt.

  “Well, to be sure,”
he said slowly, “if she ever is.” And he looked towards the King and his companion, who were still chatting gaily. Then he stole a crafty glance at me. “Do you wish her to be?” he muttered.

  “Queen?” I said, “God forbid!”

  “It would be a disgrace to France?” he whispered; and he laid his hand on my arm, and looked eagerly into my face.

  “Yes,” I said.

  “A blot on his fame?”

  I nodded.

  “A — a slur on a score of noble families?”

  I could not deny it.

  “Then — is it not worth while to avoid all that?” he murmured, his face pale, and his small eyes glued to mine. “Is it not worth a little — sacrifice, M. de Rosny?”

  “And risk?” I said. “Possibly.”

  While the words were still on my lips, something stirred close to us, behind the yew hedge beside which we were standing. Perrot darted in a moment to the opening, and I after him. We were just in time to catch a glimpse of a figure disappearing round the corner of the house. “Well,” I said grimly, “what about being overheard now?”

  M. de Perrot wiped his face. “Thank Heaven!” he said, “it was only my son. Now let me explain to you—”

  But our hasty movement had caught the King’s eye, and he came towards us, covering himself as he approached. I had now an opportunity of learning whether the girl was, in fact, as innocent as she seemed, and as every particular of our reception had declared her; and I watched her closely when Perrot’s mode of address betrayed the King’s identity. Suffice it that the vivid blush which on the instant suffused her face, and the lively emotion which almost overcame her, left me in no doubt. With a charming air of bashfulness, and just so much timid awkwardness as rendered her doubly bewitching, she tried to kneel and kiss the King’s hand. He would not permit this, however, but saluted her cheek.

  “It seems that you were right, sire,” she murmured, curtseying in a pretty confusion, “The princess was not awake.”

  Henry laughed gaily. “Come now; tell me frankly, Mademoiselle,” he said. “For whom did you take me?”

  “Not for the King, sire,” she answered, with a gleam of roguishness. “You told me that the King was a good man, whose benevolent impulses were constantly checked—”

  “Ah!”

  “By M. de Rosny, his Minister.”

  The outburst of laughter which greeted this apprised her that she was again at fault; and Henry, who liked nothing better than such mystifications, introducing me by my proper name, we diverted ourselves for some minutes with her alarm and excuses. After that it was time to take leave, if we would sup at home and the King would not be missed; and accordingly, but not without some further badinage, in which Mademoiselle de Brut displayed wit equal to her beauty, and an agreeable refinement not always found with either, we departed.

  It should be clearly understood at this point, that, notwithstanding all I have set down, I was fully determined (in accordance with a rule I have constantly followed, and would enjoin on all who do not desire to find themselves one day saddled with an ugly name) to have no part in the affair; and this though the advantage of altering the King’s intentions towards Madame de Beaufort was never more vividly present to my mind. As we rode, indeed, he put several questions concerning the Baron, and his family, and connections; and, falling into a reverie, and smiling a good deal at his thoughts, left me in no doubt as to the impression made upon him. But being engaged at the time with the Spanish treaty, and resolved, as I have said, to steer a course uninfluenced by such intrigues, I did not let my mind dwell upon the matter; nor gave it, indeed, a second thought until the next afternoon, when, sitting at an open window of my lodging, I heard a voice in the street ask where the Duchess de Beaufort had her apartment.

  The voice struck a chord in my memory, and I looked out. The man who had put the question, and who was now being directed on his way — by Maignan, my equerry, as it chanced had his back to me, and I could see only that he was young, shabbily dressed, and with the air of a workman carried a small frail of tools on his shoulder. But presently, in the act of thanking Maignan, he turned so that I saw his face, and with that it flashed upon me in a moment who he was.

  Accustomed to follow a train of thought quickly, and to act; on its conclusion with energy, I had Maignan called and furnished with his instructions before the man had gone twenty paces; and within the minute I had the satisfaction of seeing the two return together. As they passed under the window I heard my servant explaining with the utmost naturalness that he had misunderstood the stranger, and that this was Madame de Beaufort’s; after which scarce a minute elapsed before the door of my room opened, and he appeared ushering in young Perrot!

  Or so it seemed to me; and the start of surprise and consternation which escaped the stranger when he first saw me confirmed me in the impression. But a moment later I doubted; so natural was the posture into which the man fell, and so stupid the look of inquiry which he turned first on me and then on Maignan. As he stood before me, shifting his feet and staring about him in vacant wonder, I began to think that I had made a mistake; and, clearly, either I had done so or this young man was possessed of talents and a power of controlling his features beyond the ordinary. He unslung his tools, and saluting me abjectly waited in silence. After a moment’s thought, I asked him peremptorily what was his errand with the Duchess de Beaufort.

  “To show her a watch, your excellency,” he stammered, his mouth open, his eyes staring. I could detect no flaw in his acting.

  “What are you, then?” I said.

  “A clockmaker, my lord.”

  “Has Madame sent for you?”

  “No, my lord,” he stuttered, trembling.

  “Do you want to sell her the watch?”

  He muttered that he did; and that he meant no harm by it.

  “Show it to me, then,” I said curtly.

  He grew red at that, and seemed for an instant not to understand. But on my repeating the order he thrust his hand into his breast, and producing a parcel began to unfasten it. This he did so slowly that I was soon for thinking that there was no watch in it; but in the end he found one and handed it to me.

  “You did not make this,” I said, opening it.

  “No, my lord,” he answered; “it is German, and old.”

  I saw that it was of excellent workmanship, and I was about to hand it back to him, almost persuaded that I had made a mistake, when in a second my doubts were solved. Engraved on the thick end of the egg, and partly erased by wear, was a dog’s head, which I knew to be the crest of the Perrots.

  “So,” I said, preparing to return it to him, “you are a clockmaker?”

  “Yes, your excellency,” he muttered. And I thought that I caught the sound of a sigh of relief.

  I gave the watch to Maignan to hand to him. “Very well,” I said. “I have need of one. The clock in the next room — a gift from his Majesty — is out of order, and at a standstill. You can go and attend to it; and see that you do so skilfully. And do you, Maignan,” I continued with meaning, “go with him. When he has made the clock go, let him go; and not before, or you answer for it. You understand, sirrah?”

  Maignan saluted obsequiously, and in a moment hurried young Perrot from the room; leaving me to congratulate myself on the strange and fortuitous circumstance that had thrown him in my way, and enabled me to guard against a RENCONTRE that might have had the most embarassing consequences.

  It required no great sagacity to foresee the next move; and I was not surprised when, about an hour later, I heard a clatter of hoofs outside, and a voice inquiring hurriedly for the Marquis de Rosny. One of my people announced M. de Perrot, and I bade them admit him. In a twinkling he came up, pale with heat, and covered with dust, his eyes almost starting from his head and his cheeks trembling with agitation. Almost before the door was shut, he cried out that we were undone.

  I was willing to divert myself with him for a time, and I pretended to know nothing. “What
?” I said, rising. “Has the King met with an accident?”

  “Worse! worse!” he cried, waving his hat with a gesture of despair. “My son — you saw my son yesterday?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “He overheard us!”

  “Not us,” I said drily. “You. But what then, M. de Perrot? You are master in your own house.”

  “But he is not in my house,” he wailed. “He has gone! Fled! Decamped! I had words with him this morning, you understand.”

  “About your niece?”

  M. de Perrot’s face took a delicate shade of red, and he nodded; he could not speak. He seemed for an instant in danger of some kind of fit. Then he found his voice again. “The fool prated of love! Of love!” he said with such a look — like that of a dying fowl — that I could have laughed aloud. “And when I bade him remember his duty he threatened me. He, that unnatural boy, threatened to betray me, to ruin me, to go to Madame de Beaufort and tell her all — all, you understand. And I doing so much, and making such sacrifices for him!”

  “Yes,” I said, “I see that. And what did you do?”

  “I broke my cane on his back,” M. de Perrot answered with unction, “and locked him in his room. But what is the use? The boy has no natural feelings!”

  “He got out through the window?”

  Perrot nodded; and being at leisure, now that he had explained his woes, to feel their full depth, shed actual tears of rage and terror; now moaning that Madame would never forgive him, and that if he escaped the Bastille he would lose all his employments and be the laughing-stock of the Court; and now striving to show that his peril was mine, and that it was to my interest to help him.

  I allowed him to go on in this strain for some time, and then, having sufficiently diverted myself with his forebodings, I bade him in an altered voice to take courage. “For I think I know,” I said, “where your son is.”

  “At Madame’s?” he groaned.

  “No; here,” I said.

  “MON DIEU! Where?” he cried. And he sprang up, startled out of his lamentations.