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NOVELS
W. H. AINSWORTH.
\ Boscobel.
i Manchester Rebels.
Preston Fight.
Beau Nash.
Oapt. ARMSTRONG.
The Two Midshipmen.
The Medora.
The War Hawk.
The Young Commander.
BERTHA H. BUXTON.
Jennie of' The Prince's.'
Won 1
Fetterless.
Great Grenfell Gardens.
Capt. CHAMIER.
Life of a Sailor.
Ben Brace.
Tom Bowling.
Jack Adams.
HENRY COCKTON.
Valentine Vox.
Stanley Thorn.
M. CROMMELIN.
My Love She's but a
Lassie Yet.
Queenie.
A Jewel of a Girl.
Orange Lily.
Black Abbey.
Mrs. CROWE.
Night Side of Nature.
Susan Hopley.
Linny Lockwood.
CHAS. DICKENS.
The Pickwick Papers.
Sketches by Boz.
Nicholas Nickleby.
Oliver Twist.
Martin Chuzzlewit.
Grimaldi, the Clown.
Dombey and Son.
ALEX. DUMAS.
The Half-Brothers.
Marguerite de Valois.
The Mohicans of Paris.
The Three Musketeers.
Twenty Years After.
Chicot, the Jester.
The 45 Guardsmen.
AT TWO SHILLINGS.
A. B. EDWARDS.
The Ladder of Life.
Half a Million of Money.
Miss!
Marriage.
The Inheritance.
Destiny.
FIELDING.
Tom Jones.
Joseph Andrews.
Amelia.
A Wife to Order.
The Two Convicts.
The Feathered Arrow.
Each for Himself.
G. R. GLEIG.
Chelsea Veterans.
The Hussar.
Mrs. GORE.
The Money Lender.
Pin Money.
The Dowager.
JAMES GRANT.
Romance of War.
The Aide-de-Camp.
The Scottish Cavalier.
Bothwell.
Jane Seton; or, The
Queen's Advocate.
Philip Rollo.
Legends of the Black
Watch.
Mary of Lorraine.
Oliver Ellis; or, The
Fusiliers.
Lucy Arden; or, Holly-
wood Hall.
Frank Hilton.
The Yellow Frigate.
Harry Ogilvie; or, The
Black Dragoons.
Arthur Blane.
Laura Everingham.
Captain of the Guard.
Letty Hyde's Lovers.
Cavaliers of Fortune.
Second to None.
Constable of France.
The Phantom Regiment.
King's Own Borderers.
The White Cockade.
Dick Rodney.
First Love & Last Love.
The Girl He Married.
Lady Wedderburn's
Wish.
Jack Manly.
Only an Ensign.
Adventures of Rob Roy.
Under the Red Dragon.
The Queen's Cadet.
Shall I Win Her ?
Fairer than a Fairy.
The Secret Dispatch.
One of the Six Hundred.
Morley Ashton.
Did She Love Him ?
The Ross-shire Buffs.
Six Years Ago.
Vere of Ours.
The Lord Hermitage.
The Royal Regiment.
The Duke of Albany's
Highlanders.
The Cameronians.
The Dead Tryst.
Author of "Guy
Livingstone."
Guy Livingstone.
Barren Honour.
Maurice Dering.
Brakespeare.
Anteros.
Breaking a Butterfly.
Sans Merci.
Sword and Gown.
THEODORE HOOK.
Peregrine Bunce.
Cousin Geoffry.
Gilbert Gurney.
The Parson's Daughter.
All in the Wrong.
Widow and Marquess.
Gurney Married.
Jack Brag.
Maxwell.
Man of Many Friends.
Passion and Principle.
Merton.
Gervase Skinner.
Cousin William.
Fathers and Sons.
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS.
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NOVELS AT TWO SHILLINGS,
G. P. R. JAMES.
The Brigand.
Morley Ernstein.
Darnley.
Richelieu.
The Gipsy.
Arabella Stuart.
The Woodman.
Agincourt.
Russell.
The King's Highway.
Castle of Ehrenstein.
The Stepmother.
Forest Days.
The Huguenot.
The Man at Arms.
A Whim and its Con-
sequences.
Henry Masterton.
The Convict.
Mary of Burgundy.
Attila.
Margaret Graham.
Gowrie.
Delaware.
Henry of Guise.
Dark Scenes of History.
The Robber.
One in a Thousand.
The Smuggler.
De L'Orme.
Heidelberg.
Charles Tyrrell.
The False Heir.
Castleneau.
SirTheodore Broughton.
The Forgery.
The Gentleman of the
Old School.
The Jacquerie.
Philip Augustus.
The Black Eagle.
Rose D'Albret.
The Old Dominion.
Leonora D'Orco.
John Marston Hall.
Beauchamp.
Arrah Neil.
My Aunt Pontypool.
R. M. JEPHSON.
Tom Bullkley of Lis-
6ington. .
The Girl He Left Behind
Him.
A Pink Wedding.
The Roll of the Drum.
With the Colours.
HENRY KINGSLEY.
Stretton.
Old Margaret.
The Harveys.
Hornby Mills.
JOHN LANG.
Will He Marry Her ?
The Ex-Wife.
CHARLES LEVER.
Arthur O'Leary.
Con Cregan.
Plorace Templeton.
S. LOVER.
Rory O'More.
Handy Andy.
Lord LYTTON.
Pelham.
Paul Clifford.
Eugene Aram.
Last Days of Pompeii.
Rienzi.
Leila, and Pilgrims of
the Rhine.
The Last of the Barons.
Ernest Maltravers.
Alice; or, The Mysteries.
Night and Morning.
Godolphin.
The Disowned.
Devereux.
The Caxtons.
My Novel, 2 vols.
Lucretia.
Harold.
Zanoni.
What will He Do with
It ? 2 vols.
A Strange Story.
The Coming Race.
Kenelm Chillingly.
The Parisians, 2 vols.
Falkland, and Zicci.
Pausanius.
Capt. MARRYAT.
{Standard Novels), in.bds.
Jacob Faithful.
Japhet in Search of a
Father.
The King's Own.
Midshipman Easy.
Newton Forster.
Pacha of Many Tales.
Rattlin the Reefer.
The Poacher.
The Phantom Ship.
The Dog Fiend.
Percival Keene.
Frank Mildmay.
Peter Simple.
W. H. MAXWELL.
Stories of Waterloo.
Brian O'Linn; or, Luck
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Captain Blake.
The Bivouac.
Hector O'Halloran.
Captain O'Sullivan.
Stories of the Penin-
sular War.
Wild Sports in the West.
W. J. N. NEALE.
The Lost Ship.
continued.
The Captain's Wife,
The Pride of the Mess.
The Flying Dutchman.
Will Watch.
Cavendish.
Gentleman Jack.
Mrs. RADCLIFFE.
Mysteries of Udolpho.
Romance of the Forest.
MAYNE REID.
The Quadroon.
The War Trail.
The Scalp Hunters.
The Rifle Rangers.
The Maroon.
The White Chief.
The Wild Huntress.
The White Gauntlet.
The Half-Blood.
Headless Horseman.
Lost Lenore.
The Hunters' Feast.
The Wood Rangers.
The Tiger Hunter.
The Boy Slaves.
The Cliff Climbers.
The Giraffe Hunters.
Afloat in the Forest.
The Ocean Waifs.
The White Squaw.
The Fatal Cord.
The Guerilla Chief.
RICHARDSON.
Clarissa Harlowe.
Pamela.
Sir Charles Grandison.
Sir WALTER SCOTT.
Waverley.
Guy Mannering.
Old Mortality.
Heart of Midlothian.
Rob Roy.
Ivanhoe.
The Antiquary.
Bride of Lammermoor.
The Black Dwarf, and A
Legend of Montrose.
The Monastery.
The Abbot.
Kenilworth.
The Pirate.
The Fortunes of Nigel.
Peveril of the Peak.
Quentin Durward.
St. Ronan's Well.
Redgauntlet.
The Betrothed and High-
land Widow.
The Talisman, and Two
Drovers.
Woodstock.
The Fair Maid of Perth.
Anne of Geierstein.
Count Robert of Paris.
TheSurgeon'sDaughter.
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE &> SONS.
2
NOVELS AT TWO SHILLINGS, continued.
ALBERT SMITH.
The Marchioness of
Brinvilliers. [bury.
Adventures of Mr. Led-
Scattergood Family.
Christopher Tadpole.
The Pottleton Legacy.
SMOLLETT.
Roderick Random.
Humphry Clinker.
Peregrine Pickle.
ANNIE THOMAS.
False Colours.
The Dower House.
The Cross of Honour.
ANTHONY TROLLOPE.
Golden Lion of Granpere
John Caldigate.
Mrs. TROLLOPE.
One Fault.
The Widow Barnaby.
The Widow Married.
The Ward.
Love and Jealousy.
JULES VERNE.
Adventures of Captain
Hatteras.
Twenty Thousand
Leagues under the Sea.
Five Weeks in a Bal-
loon, and a Journey to
Centre of the Earth.
MiSS WETHERELL.
The Old Helmet.
Melbourne House.
Ellen Montgomery's
Bookshelf.
The Two School Girls.
The Wide, Wide World.
Queechy.
Author of' Whitefriars'
Whitefriars.
Caleb Williams, by Godwin.
The Scottish Chiefs, by Miss Porter.
Torlogh O'Brien, by Le Fanu.
The Hour and the Man. Martineau.
The Pastor's Fireside. Jane Porter.
The Prairie Bird, by Sir C. Murray.
The Rifleman, by Capt. Rafter.
Salathiel, by Dr. Croly.
The Clockmaker, by " Sam Slick."
The Two Frigates, by Cupples.
The Bashful Irishman.
Deeds, Not Words, by M. M. Bell.
The Secret of a Life, ditto.
Murder will Out.
Sir Roland Ashton, by Lady C. Long.
ith
The Greatest Plague of Life, wit
Cruikshank's Plates.
The Attache, by " Sam Slick."
The Green Hand, by Cupples.
Hajji Baba of Ispahan, by Morier.
Whom to Marry, with Cruikshank's
Plates. [" Sam Slick."
Letter Bag of the Great Western, by
Black and Gold, by P. Sanders.
Vidocq, the French Police Spy.
Gilderoy, by Fittis.
Singleton Fontenoy, by Hannay.
The Lamplighter, by Miss Cummins.
Gideon Giles the Roper. T. Miller.
The Wandering Jew, by Sue.
The Mysteries ot Paris, ditto.
Land and Sea Tales, " Old Sailor."
Mabel Vaughan, by Miss Cummins.
Peep o' Day, by Banim.
The Smuggler, ditto.
Stuart of Dunleath. Hon.Mrs. Norton.
Adventures of a Strolling Player.
The Solitary Hunter, by Palisser.
Kaloolah, by Mayo.
Won in a Canter, by "Old Calabar."
Blount Tempest. J. C. M. Bellew.
Whitehall.
Caesar Borgia.
Owen Tudor.
The Maid of Orleans.
Westminster Abbey.
Madeleine Graham.
Armourer's Daughter.
EDMUND YATES.
Running the Gauntlet.
Kissing the Rod.
The Rock Ahead.
Black Sheep.
A Righted Wrong.
The Yellow Flag.
The Impending Sword.
A Waiting Race.
Broken to Harness.
Two by Tricks.
A Silent Witness, [tient.
Dr. Wainwright's Pa-
, Wrecked in Port.
1 Business of Pleasure.
VARIOUS AUTHORS.
Mornings at Bow Street, with Cruik-
shank's Plates.
The Arctic Regions. P. L. Simmonds.
Miss Forrester. Author of "Archie
Lovell.''
The Pretty Widow, by Chas. Rose.
Recommended to Mercy.
Love Stories of English Watering
Places.
Saved by a Woman, by Author of
" No Appeal."
At His Gates, by Mrs. Oliphant.
Helen, by Miss Edgeworth.
First Lieutenant's Story. Lady Long.
Clement Lorimer, by A. B. Reach.
Tom Cringle's Log. Michael Scott.
Private Life of an Eastern King.
Hearths & Watchfires. Col. Colomb.
The City of the Sultan, Miss Pardoe.
Through the Mist, by Jeanie Hering.
Tales of the Coastguard. Warneford.
Leonard Lindsay, by A. B. Reach.
Traits and Stories of Irish Peasantry,
ist & 2nd series, 2 vols. Carleton.
Romance of Military Life.
Robber of the Rhine, by Ritchie.
The Polish Lancer, by Reelstab.
Jasper Lyle, by Mrs. Ward.
Flower of the Forest, by St. John.
Cruise of the Midge, by M. Scott.
Thaddeus of Warsaw. Jane Porter.
The Hazelhurst Mystery.
Les Miserables, by Victor Hugo.
Love or Lucre, by R. Black.
Strafford, by H. B. Baker.
The Prodigal Daughter, Mark Hope.
Madge Dunraven. [Kingston.
Roger Kyffin's Ward, by W. H. G.
Miss Roberts's Fortune. S.Winthrop.
An Uninhabited House. Mrs.Riddell.
Children of the Abbey. R. M. Roche.
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THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
THE
REGENT'S DAUGHTER
AN HISTORICAL ROMANCE
(SEQUEL TO "THE CONSPIRATORS")
BY
ALEXANDRE DUMAS
AUTHOR OF
"MONTE CRISTO" "THE THREE MUSKETEERS ETC
LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
NEW YORK : 9, LAFAYETTE PLACE
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. AN ABBESS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY - I
II. DECIDEDLY THE FAMILY BEGINS TO SETTLE
DOWN IO
III. WHAT PASSED THREE NIGHTS LATER AT EIGHT
HUNDRED LEAGUES FROM THE PALAIS ROYAL 16
IV. SHOWING HOW CHANCE ARRANGES SOME
MATTERS BETTER THAN PROVIDENCE - - 25
V. THE JOURNEY 2g
VI. A ROOM IN THE HOTEL AT RAMBOUILLET - 37
VII. A SERVANT IN THE ROYAL LIVERY—MON-
SEIGNEUR LE DUC D'ORLEANS - - "41
VIII. THE UTILITY OF A SEAL 49
IX. THE VISIT 56
X. IN WHICH ' DUBOIS PROVES THAT HIS POLICE
WAS BETTER ORGANIZED AT AN EXPENSE OF
THREE HUNDRED THOUSAND FRANCS THAN
THE GENERAL POLICE FOR THREE MILLIONS 63
XI. RAMBOUILLET AGAIN ----- 69
XII. CAPTAIN LA JONQUIERE ----- 74
XIII. MONSIEUR MOUTONNET, DRAPER AT ST. GER-
MAIN-EN-LAYE 79
XIV. TRUST TO SIGNS OF GRATITUDE 84
XV. HIS EXCELLENCY THE DUC D'ORLEANS - - 92
XVI. " MON SEIGNEUR, WE ARE BRETONS " - - 98
XVII. MONSIEUR ANDRE - IOI
▼i CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
XVIII. THE FAUBOURG SAINT ANTOINE - - - 109
XIX. THE ARTIST AND THE POLITICIAN - - - H3
XX. ELOOD REVEALS ITSELF 120
XXI. WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC WHILE
WAITING FOR GASTON - - - - - 129
XXII. IN BRETAGNE 158
XXIII. THE SORCERESS OF SAVERNAY - - - 164
XXIV. THE ARREST 173
XXV. THE BASTILLE - - - - - - - l8o
XXVI. HOW LIFE PASSED IN THE BASTILLE WHILE
WAITING FOR DEATH - - - - - 189
XXVII. HOW THE NIGHT PASSED IN THE BASTILLE
WHILE WAITING FOR THE DAY - - - 196
XXVIII. A COMPANION IN THE BASTILLE - - - 204
XXIX. THE SENTENCE 21 5
XXX. THE FAMILY FEUD ------ 223
XXXI. STATE AFFAIRS AND FAMILY AFFAIRS - - 238
XXXII. SHOWING THAT WE MUST NOT ALWAYS JUDGE
OTHERS BY OURSELVES, ABOVE ALL IF WE
ARE CALLED DUBOIS - - - - - 251
XXXIII. MONCEAUX - - - 259
XXXIV. THE PARDON ------- 266
XXXV. THE LAST INTERVIEW 273
XXXVI. NANTES 277
XXXVII. THE TRAGEDY OF NANTES - 287
XXXVIII. THE END 296
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER I.
an abbess of the eighteenth century.
On the 8th February, 1719, a carriage, bearing the fleur-de-
lys of France, with the motto of Orleans, preceded by two
outriders and a page, entered the porch of the Abbey of
Chelles, precisely as the clock struck ten, and, the door
having been quickly opened, its two occupants stepped out.
The first was a man of from forty-five to forty-six years of
age, short, and rather stout, with a high colour, easy in his
movements, and displaying in every gesture a certain air of
high breeding and command.
The second, who followed slowly, was short, and remark-
ably thin. His face, though not precisely ugly, was very
disagreeable, although bearing the evidences of a keen intel-
lect. He seemed to feel the cold, and followed his com-
panion, wrapped up in an ample cloak.
The first of these two made his way up the staircase with
the air of a man well acquainted with the locality. Passing
through a large ante-chamber containing several nuns, who
bowed to the ground as he passed, he ran rather than walked
to a reception-room, which, it must be confessed, bore but
little trace of that austerity which is ordinarily ascribed to
the interior of a cloister.
The other, who followed leisurely, was saluted almost as
humbly by the nuns.
i
2 THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" And now," said the first, " wait here and warm yourself
while I go to her, and in ten minutes I will make an end of
all these abuses you mention : if she deny, and I want proof,
I will call you."
"Ten minutes, monseigneur," replied the man in the
cloak; "in two hours your highness will not have even
broached the subject of your visit. Oh! the Abbess de
Chelles is a clever woman !"
So saying, he stretched himself out in an easy chair,
which he had drawn near the fire, and rested his thin legs
on the fender.
"Yes, yes," replied he who had been addressed as "your
highness" I know, and if I could forget it, you take care
to remind me of it often enough. Why did you bring me
here to-day through all this wind and snow ?"
" Because you would not come yesterday, monseigneur."
" Yesterday, it was impossible; I had an appointment
with Lord Stair at five o'clock."
" In a house in the Rue des Bons Enfants. My lord does
not live any longer, then, at the English embassy ?"
"Abbe, I had forbidden you to follow me."
" Monseigneur, it is my duty to disobey you."
" Well then, disobey; but let me tell stories at my plea-
sure, without your having the impertinence to show me
that you know it, just for the sake of proving the efficiency
of your police."
" Monseigneur may rest easy in future—I will believe any-
thing!"
"I will not promise as much in return, abbe, for here I
think you have made a mistake."
" Monseigneur, I know what I said, and I repeat it."
" But look! no noise, no light, perfect quiet, your account
is incorrect; it is evident that we are late."
" Yesterday, monseigneur, where you stand, there was ani
orchestra of fifty musicians ; there, where that young sister
kneels so devoutly, was a buffet: what was upon it I cannot
tell, but I know it was there, and in the gallery on the left,
where a modest supper of lentils and cream cheese is now
preparing for the holy sisters, were two hundred people,
drinking, dancing, and making "
AN ABBESS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 3
" Well, making what ?"
" Making love, monseigneur."
" Diable ! are you sure of this ?"
" Rather more sure than if I had seen it, and that is why
you do well in coming to-day, and would have done better in
coming yesterday. This sort of life does not become an ab-
bess, monseigneur "
" No, it is only fit for an abbe. Ha !"
" I am a politician, monseigneur."
" Well, my daughter is a political abbess, that is all."
" Oh, let it be so, if it suit you, monseigneur; I am not
so particular in point of morals, you know. To-morrow
there will be another song or two out, but what does that
matter ?"
"Well, well, wait for me, and I will go and scold."
"Take my word for it, monseigneur, if you wish to scold
properly you had better do it here, before me ; if you fail in
memory or arguments, sign to me, and I will come to the
rescue."
" Yes, yes, you are right," said the person who had under-
taken to redress wrongs, and in whom we hope the reader
has recognized Philippe d'Orleans. "Yes, this scandal must
be quieted a little, at any rate : the abbess must not receive
more than twice a week. There must be none of these
dances and assemblies, and the cloisters must be re-esta-
blished. Mademoiselle d'Orleans passed from gaiety to a
religious life; she left the Palais-Royal for Chelles in spite
of all I could do to prevent her; now, for five days in the
week she must be the abbess, and that will leave her two to
play the great lady."
" Ah, monseigneur, you are beginning to see the thing in
its true light."
" Is not this what you wish ?"
" It is what is necessary. It seems to me that an abbess
who has thirty valets, fifteen footmen, ten cooks, eight
grooms, and a mute—who fences, plays the horn, and the
violincello—who is a surgeon and a hairdresser—who shoots
and makes fireworks—cannot be very dull."
" Has not my daughter been told of my arrival," said the
duke to an old nun who crossed the room with a bunch of
1—2
4
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
keys in her hand ; " I wish to know whether I shall go to her,
or whether she is coming to me."
" Madame is coming, monseigneur," replied the sister,
respectfully.
" It is well," murmured the regent, somewhat impatiently.
" Monseigneur, remember the parable of Jesus driving out
the money-changers from the temple; you know it, or ought
to know it, for I taught it you when I was your preceptor.
Now, drive out these musicians, these Pharisees, these come-
dians and anatomists; three only of each profession will
make a nice escort for our return."
" Do not fear, I am in a preaching vein."
" Then," replied Dubois, rising, " that is most fortunate,
for here she is."
At this moment a door, leading to the interior of the
convent, was opened, and the person so impatiently expected
appeared.
Let us explain who was this worthy person who had sue-
ceeded, by repeated follies, in rousing the anger of Philippe
d'Orleans, the most indulgent man and father in France.
Mademoiselle de Chartres, Louise-Adelaide-d'Orfeans, was
the second and prettiest of the regent's daughters. She
had a beautiful complexion, fine eyes, a good figure, and
well-shaped hands. Her teeth were splendid, and her grand-
mother, the princess palatine, compared them to a string of
pearls in a coral casket. She danced well, sang better, and
played at sight. She had learned of Cauchereau, one of the
first artists at the opera, with whom she had made much
more progress than is common with ladies, and especially
with princesses. It is true that she was most assiduous; the
secret of that assiduity will be shortly revealed.
All her tastes were masculine. She appeared to have
changed sex with her brother Louis. She loved dogs and
horses ; amused herself with pistols and foils, but cared little
for any feminine occupations.
Her chief predilection, however, was for music; she seldom
missed a night at the opera when her master Cauchereau per-
formed ; and once, when he surpassed himself in an air, she
exclaimed, " Bravo, bravo, my dear Cauchereau in a voice
audible to the whole house.
AN ABBESS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 5
The Duchess d'Orleans judged that the exclamation was
somewhat indiscreet for a princess of the blood, and de-
cided that Mademoiselle Chartres knew enough of music.
Cauchereau was well paid, and desired not to return to the
Palais Royal. The duchess also begged her daughter to
spend a fortnight at the convent of Chelles, tLe abbess
of which, a sister of Marechal de Villars, was a friend of
hers.
It was doubtless during this retreat that mademoiselle
■—who did everything by fits and starts—resolved to re-
r.ounce the world. Towards the end of the holy week of
1718, she asked and obtained her father's permission to spend
Easter at Chelles; but at the end of that time, instead of
returning to the palais, she expressed a wish to remain as a
nun.
The duke tried to oppose this, but Mademoiselle de
Chartres was obstinate, and on the 23rd of April she took
the vows. Then the duke treated with Mademoiselle de
Villars for the abbey, and, on the promise of twelve thou-
sand francs, Mademoiselle de Chartres was named abbess
in her stead, and she had occupied the post about a year.
This, then, was the Abbess of Chelles, who appeared be-
fore her father, not surrounded by an elegant and profane
court, but followed by six nuns dressed in black and
holding torches. There was no sign of frivolity or of plea-
sure; nothing but the most sombre apparel and the most
severe aspect.
The regent, however, suspected that he had been kept
waiting while all this was preparing.
" I do not like hypocrisy," said he, sharply, " and can
forgive vices which are not hidden under the garb of virtues.
All these lights, madame, are doubtless the remains of yes-
terday's illumination. Are all your flowers so faded, and all
your guests so fatigued, that you cannot show me a single
bouquet nor a single dancer ?"
" Monsieur," said the abbess in a grave tone, " this is not
the place for fetes and amusements."
" Yes," answered the regent,, " I see, that if you feasted
yesterday, you fast to-day."
6
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Did you come here, monsieur, to catechise? At least
what you see should reply to any accusations against me.'"'
I came to tell you, madame," replied the regent, an-
^oyed at being supposed to have been duped, " that the
life you lead displeases me; your conduct yesterday was
unbecoming an abbess; your austerities to-day are unbe-
coming a princess of the blood; decide, once for all,
between the nun and the court lady. People begin to speak
ill of you, and I have enemies enough of my own, with-
out your saddling me with others from the depth of your
convent."
"Alas, monsieur, in giving entertainments, balls, and con-
certs, which have been quoted as the best in Paris, I have
neither pleased those enemies, nor you, nor myself. Yester-
day was my last interview with the world; this morning I
have taken leave of it for ever; and to-day, while still ignorant
of your visit, I had adopted a determination from which I
will never depart."
' And what is it ?" asked the regent, suspecting that
this was only a new specimen of his daughter's ordinary
follies.
" Come to this window and look out," said the abbess.
The regent, in compliance with the invitation, approached
the window, and saw a large fire blazing in the middle of the
courtyard. Dubois—who was as curious as if he had really
been an abbe—slipped up beside him.
Several people were rapidly passing and repassing before
the fire, and throwing various singular-shaped objects into
the flames.
" But what is that ?" asked the regent of Dubois, who
seemed as much surprised as himself.
" That which is burning now ?" asked the abbe.
" Yes," replied the regent.
" Ma foi, monseigneur, it looks to me very much like a
violincello."
" It is mine," said the abbess, " an excellent violincello
by Valeri."
" And you are burning it!" exclaimed the duke.
"AH instruments are sources of perdition," said the
AJV ABBESS OB THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 7
abbess, in a tone which betrayed the most profound
remorse.
" Eh, but here is a harpsichord," interrupted the duke.
" My harpsichord, monsieur; it was so perfect that it
enticed me towards earthly things; I condemned it this
morning."
" And what are those chests of papers with which they are
feeding the fire ?" asked Dubois, whom the spectacle seemed
to interest immensely.
" My music, which I am having burned."
" Your music?" demanded the regent.
" Yes, and even yours," answered the abbess; " look care-
fully and you will see your opera of 'Panthee' follow in its turn.
You will understand that my resolution once taken, its exe-
cution was necessarily general."
"Well, madame, this time you are really mad ! To light
the fire with music, and then feed it with bass-viols and
harpsichords is really a little too luxurious."
"I am doing penance, monsieur."
" Hum, say rather that you are refitting your house, and
that this is an excuse for buying new furniture, since you are
doubtless tired of the old."
" No, monseigneur, it is no such thing."
"Well, then, what is it? Tell me frankly."
" In truth, I am weary of amusing myself, and, indeed, I
intend to act differently."
"And what are you going to do?"
" I am going with my nuns to visit my tomb."
" Diable, monseigneur!" exclaimed the abbe, " her wits
are gone at last."
" It will be truly edifying, will it not, monsieur ?" con-
tinued the abbess, gravely.
" Indeed," answered the regent, " if you really do this, I
doubt not but people will laugh at it twice as much as they
did at your suppers."
"Will you accompany me, messieurs?" continued the
abbess ; "I am going to spend a few minutes in my coffin;
it is a fancy I have had a long time."
" You will have plenty of time for that," said the regent;
"moreover, you have not even invented this amusement;
8
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
for Charles the Fifth, who became a monk as you became a
nun, without exactly knowing why, thought of it before you."
" Then you will not go with me, monsieur ?" said the
abbess.
"I," answered the duke, who had not the least sympathy
with sombre ideas, " I go to see tombs ! I go to hear the
De Profundis ! No, pardieu! and the only thing which
consoles me for not being able to escape them some day, is,
that I shall neither see the one nor the other."
"Ah, monsieur," answered the abbess, in a scandalised
tone, "you do not, then, believe in the immortality of the
soul ?"
" I believe that you are raving mad. Confound this abbe,
who promises me a feast, and brings me to a funeral."
"By my faith, monseigneur," said Dubois, " I think I pre-
fer the extravagance of yesterday; it was more attractive."
The abbess bowed, and made a few steps towards the door.
The duke and Dubois remained staring at each other, uncer-
tain whether to laugh or cry.
" One word more," said the duke; "are you decided this
time, or is it not some fever which you have caught from
your confessor ? If it be real, I have nothing to say; but
if it be a fever, I desire that they cure you of it. I have
Morceau and Chirac, whom I pay for attending on me and
mine."
"Monseigneur," answered the abbess, "you forget that
I know sufficient of medicine to undertake my own cure, if
I were ill: I can, therefore, assure you that I am. not. I am
a Jansenist; that is all."
" Ah," cried the duke, " this is more of Father le Doux's
work, that execrable Benedictine ! At least I know a treat-
ment which will cure him."
" What is that ?" asked the abbess.
" The Bastille."
And he went out in a rage, followed by Dubois, who was
laughing heartily.
" You see," said the regent, after a long silence, and when
they were nearing Paris, " I preached with a good grace;
it seems it was I who needed the sermon."
" Well, you are a happy father, that is all; I compliment
AN ABBESS OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY. 9
you on your younger daughter, Mademoiselle de Chartres.
Unluckily your elder daughter, the Duchesse de Berry "
"Oh, do not talk of her; she is my ulcer, particularly
when I am in a bad temper."
" Well ?"
" I have a great mind to make use of it by finishing with
her at one blow."
" She is at the Luxembourg ?"
" I believe so."
" Let us go to the Luxembourg, monseigneur."
" You go with me ?"
" I shall not leave you to-night."
"Well, drive to the Luxembourg."
jo
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER II.
decidedly the family begins to settle down.
Whatever the regent might say, the Duchesse de Berry
was his favourite daughter. At seven years of age she had
been seized with a disease which all the doctors declared to
be fatal, and when they had abandoned her, her father, who
had studied medicine, took her in hand himself, and sue-
ceeded in saving her.
From that time the regent's affection for his daughter
became almost a weakness. He allowed the haughty and
self-willed child the most perfect liberty; her education was
neglected, but this did not prevent Louis XIV. from choos-
ing her as a wife for his grandson the Due de Berry.
It is well known how death at once struck a triple blow
at the royal posterity, and within a few years carried off the
Dauphin, the Due and Duchesse de Bourgoyne and the
Due de Berry.
Left a widow at twenty years of age, loving her father
almost as tenderly as he loved her, and having to choose
between the society of Versailles and that of the Palais
Royal, the Duchesse de Berry, young, beautiful, and fond of
pleasure, had quickly decided. She took part in all the
fetes, the pleasures and follies of her father.
The Due d'Orleans, in his increasing fondness for his
daughter—who already had six hundred thousand francs a
year—allowed her four hundred thousand francs more from
his private fortune. He gave up the Luxembourg to her,
gave her a bodyguard, and at length, to the scandal of those
who advocated the old forms of etiquette, he merely
shrugged his shoulders when the Duchesse de Berry passed
through Paris preceded by cymbals and trumpets, and only
THE FAMILY BEGINS TO SETTLE DOWN. 11
laughed when she received the Venetian ambassador on a
throne, raised on three steps, which nearly embroiled France
with the republic of Venice.
About this time the Duchesse de Berry took a fancy to fall
in love with the Chevalier de Riom.
The Chevalier de Riom was a nephew or grand-nephew
of the Due de Lauzun, who came to Paris in 1715 to seek
his fortune, and found it at the Luxembourg. Introduced
to the princess by Madame de Mouchy, he soon established
the same influence over her as his uncle, the Due de
Lauzun, had exercised over La Grande Mademoiselle fifty
years before, and was soon established as her lover, sup-
planting Lahaie, who was sent on an embassy to Denmark.
The duchess had the singular moderation of never
having had more than two lovers; Lahaie, whom she had
never avowed, and Riom, whom she proclaimed aloud.
This was not the true cause of the malice with which the
princess was pursued; it arose rather from the previous
offences of her passage through Paris, the reception of the
ambassadors, her body-guard, and her assumptions.
The duke himself was indignant at Riom's influence over
his daughter. Riom had been brought up by the Due de
Lauzun, who in the morning had crushed the hand of the
Princesse de Monaco with the heel of the boot which, in the
evening, he made the daughter of Gaston d'Orleans pull off,
and who had given his nephew the following instruction,
which Riom had fully carried out.
" The daughters of France," said he, " must be treated
with a high hand;" and Riom, trusting to his uncle's
experience, had so well schooled the Duchesse de Berry,
that she scarcely dared to give a fete without his per-
mission.
The duke took as strong a dislike to Riom as his care-
less character allowed him to take to any one, and, under
pretext of serving the duchess, had given him a regiment,
then the government of Cognac, then the order to retire to
his government, which almost made his favours look like
disfavours and disgrace.
The duchess was not deceived; she went to her father,
begged, prayed, and scolded, but in vain; and she went
12
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
away threatening the duke with her anger, and declaring
that Riom should not go.
The duke's only reply was to repeat his orders for Riom's
departure the next day, and Riom had respectfully promised
to obey.
The same day, which was the one preceding that on
which our story opens, Riom had ostensibly set out, and
Dubois himself had told the duke that he had left for
Cognac at nine o'clock.
Meanwhile the duke had not again seen his daughter;
thus, when he spoke of going to finish with her, it was rather
a pardon than a quarrel that he went to seek.
Dubois had not been duped by this pretended resolution;
but Riom was gone, and that was all he wanted ; he hoped
to slip in some new personage who should efface all memory
of Riom, who was to be sent to join the Marechal de Berwick
in Spain.
The carriage stopped before the Luxembourg, which was
lighted as usual.
The duke ascended the steps with his usual celerity, Du-
bois remained in a corner of the carriage. Presently the
duke appeared at the door with a disappointed air.
"Ah, monseigneur," said Dubois, "are you refused ad-
mittance ?"
" No, the duchess is not here."
" Where, then—at the Carmelites ?"
" No, at Meudon."
"'At Meudon, in February, and in such weather; what can
she be doing there ?"
" It is easy to know."
"How?"
" Let us go to Meudon."
"To Meudon !" said the regent, jumping into the carriage;
"I allow you five-and-twenty minutes to get there."
"I would humbly beg to remind monseigneur," said
the coachman, "that the horses have already gone ten
leagues."
" Kill them, but be at Meudon in five-and-twenty
minutes."
There was no reply to be made to such an order; the
THE FAMILY BEGINS TO SETTLE DOWN. 13
coachman whipped his horses, and the noble animals set out
at as brisk a pace as if they had just left the stable.
Throughout the drive Dubois was silent, and the regent
thoughtful; there was nothing on the route to arrest the
attention of either, and they arrived at Meudon full of con-
tradictory reflections.
This time both alighted ; Dubois, thinking the interview
might be long, was anxious to find a more comfortable wait-
ing-place than a carriage.
At the door they found a Swiss in full livery—he stopped
them—the duke made himself known.
" Pardon," said the Swiss, " I did not know that mon-
seigneur was expected."
"Expected or not, I am here; send word to the princess."
" Monseigneur is to be at the ceremony ?" asked the Swiss,
who seemed embarrassed.
"Yes, of course," put in Dubois, stopping the duke, who
was about to ask what ceremony ; " and I also."
" Then shall I lead monseigneur at once to the chapel ?"
"'To the chapel?" asked the duke.
"Yes; for the ceremony is already commenced."
"Ah, Dubois," said the duke, "is she also going to take
the veil ?"
" Monseigneur," said Dubois, " I should rather say she is
going to be married."
" Pardieu !" exclaimed the regent, " that would crown
all;" and he darted towards the staircase, followed by
Dubois.
" Does not monseigneur wish me to guide him ?" asked
the Swiss.
" It is needless," cried the regent; " I know the way."
Indeed—with an agility surprising in so corpulent a man
—the regent darted through the rooms and corridors, and
arrived at the door of the chapel, which appeared to be
closed, but yielded to the first touch.
Dubois was right.
Riom, who had returned secretly, was on his knees with
the princess, before the private chaplain of the Luxembourg,
while M. de Pons, Riom's relative, and the Marquis de la
Rochefoucauld, captain of the princess's guard, held the
h
:The regents daughter.
canopy over their heads; Messrs. de Mouchy and de Lauzun
stood, one by the duchess and the other by Riom.
" Certainly fortune is against us, monseigneur," said Du-
bois ; "we are five minutes too late."
"Mordieu !" cried the duke, exasperated, "we will see."
" Chut," said Dubois; " I cannot permit sacrilege. If
it were any use, I do not say; but this would be mere folly."
" Are they married, then ?" asked the duke, drawing back.
" So much married, monseigneur, that the devil him-
self cannot unmarry them, without the assistance of the
Pope."
" I will write to Rome!"
" Take care, monseigneur ; do not waste your influence ;
you will want it all, so gfet me made a cardinal."
" But," exclaimed the regent, " such a marriage is in-
tolerable."
" Mesalliances are in fashion," said Dubois; " there is
nothing else talked of—Louis XIV. made a mesalliance in
marrying Madame de Maintenon, to whom you pay a
pension as his widow—La Grande Mademoiselle made a
mesalliance in marrying the Due de Lauzun—you did so
in marrying Mademoiselle de Blois, so much so, indeed, that
when you announced the marriage to your mother, the prin-
cess palatine, she replied by a blow. Did not I do the same
when I married the daughter of a village schoolmaster ? After
such good examples, why should, not your daughter do so in
her turn ?"
" Silence, demon," said the regent.
" Besides," continued Dubois, " the Duchesse de Berry's
passion began to be talked about, and this will quiet the
talk; for it will be known all through Paris to-morrow.
Decidedly, monseigneur, your family begins to settle down."
The Due d'Orleans uttered an oath, to which Dubois
replied by a laugh, which Mephistopheles might have
envied.
" Silence !" cried a Swiss, who did not know who it was
that was making a noise, and did not wish the pious exhor-
tation of the chaplain to be lost.
" Silence, monseigneur," repeated Dubois ; " you are dis-
turbing the ceremony."
THE FAMILY BEGINS TO SETTLE DOWN. 15
" If we are not silent," replied the duke, " the next thing
they will do will be to turn us out."
" Silence !" repeated the Swiss, striking the flag-stone with
his halberd, while the Duchesse de Berry sent M. de Mouchy
to learn who was causing the disturbance.
M. de Mouchy obeyed the orders of the duchess, and
perceiving two persons who appeared to be concealing them-
selves in the shade, he approached them.
" Who is making this noise ?" said he; " and who gave
you permission to enter this chapel ?"
" One who has a great mind to send you all out by the
window," replied the regent, " but who will content him-
self at present with begging you to order M. de Riom to
set out at once for Cognac, and to intimate to the Duchesse
de Berry that she had better absent herself from the Palais
Royal."
The regent went out, signing to Dubois to follow; and,
leaving M. de Mouchy bewildered at his appearance, returned
to the Palais Royal."
That evening the regent wrote a letter, and ringing for a
valet:
" Take care that this letter is despatched by an express
courier to-morrow morning, and is delivered only to the
person to whom it is addressed."
That person was Madame Ursule, Superior of the Ursuline
Convent at Clisson.
16 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER III.
what passed three nights later at eight hundred
leagues from the palais royal.
Three nights after that on which we have seen the regent,
first at Chelles and then at Meudon, a scene passed in the
environs of Nantes which cannot be omitted in this history;
we will therefore exercise our privilege of transporting the
reader to that place.
On the road to Clisson, two or three miles from Nantes—
near the convent known as the residence of Abelard—was a
large dark house, surrounded by thick stunted trees \ hedges
everywhere surrounded the inclosure outside the walls, hedges
impervious to the sight, and only interrupted by a wicket-
gate.
This gate led into a garden, at the end of which was a
wall, having a small, massive, and closed door. From a
distance this grave and dismal residence appeared like a
prison ; it was, however, a convent, full of young Augustines,
subject to a rule lenient as compared with provincial cus-
toms, but rigid as compared with those of Paris.
The house was inaccessible on three sides, but the fourth,
which did not face the road, abutted on a large sheet of
water; and ten feet above its surface were the windows of
the refectory.
This little lake was carefully guarded, and was surrounded
by high wooden palisades. A single iron gate opened into
it, and at the same time gave a passage to the waters of a
small rivulet which fed the lake, and the water had egress at
the opposite end.
In the summer, a small boat belonging to the garden was
seen on the water, and was used for fishing.
THREE NIGHTS LATER.
17
Sometimes, also, in summer, on dark nights, the river
gate was mysteriously opened, and a man, wrapped in a large
brown cloak, silently dropped into the little boat, which
appeared to detach itself from its fastenings, then glided
quietly along, and stopped under one of the barred windows
of the refectory.
Soon a sound was heard, imitating the croaking of a frog
or the cry of the owl so common there, and then a young
girl would appear at the window, and pass her head through
the opening between the bars, which were, however, too
high for the man to reach. A low and tender conversation
was then carried on, and at length, after a different hour
and a different signal had been agreed upon for their
next interview, they separated, the boat disappeared, the
gate shut gently, and the young girl closed the window with
a sigh.
But now it was the month of February, and in the ter-
rible winter of 1719. The trees were powdered with hoar
frost, and it was at this time impossible to glide quietly
along in the little boat, for the lake was covered with ice.
And yet, in this biting cold, in this dark, starless night, a
cavalier ventured alone into the open country, and along a
cross-road which led to Clisson. He threw the reins on the
neck of his horse, which proceeded at a slow and careful
pace.
Soon, however, in spite of his instinctive precaution, the
poor animal, which had no light to guide him, struck against
a stone and nearly fell. The rider soon perceived that his
horse was lamed, and on seeing a trail of blood upon the
snow, discovered that it was wounded.
The young man appeared seriously annoyed at the acci-
dent, and while deliberating what course to take, he heard
a sound of horses' feet on the same road; and, feeling sure
that if they were pursuing him he could not escape them,
he remounted his horse, drew aside behind some fallen
trees, put his sword under his arm, drew out a pistol, and
waited.
The cavalcade soon appeared; they were four in number,
and rode silently along, passing the group of trees which
hid the cavalier, when suddenly they stopped. One who
2
18 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
appeared the chief alighted, took out a dark lantern, and
examined the road.
As they could not see far, they returned some steps, and,
by the light of their lantern, perceived the cavalier.
The sound of cocking pistols was now heard.
" Hola!" said the cavalier with the wounded horse,
taking the initiative) " who are you, and what do you
want ?"
" It is he," murmured two or three voices.
The man with the lantern advanced towards the cavalier.
"Advance one step further and you are a dead man,"
said the cavalier. " Declare your name at once, that I may
know with whom I have to deal."
" Shoot no one, Gaston de Chanlay," replied the man with
the lantern, calmly; " and put up your pistols."
"Ah ! it is the Marquis de Pontcalec."
" Yes ; it is I."
" And what do you come here for, may I ask ?"
"To demand some explanation of your conduct. Approach
and reply, if you please."
" The invitation is singular, marquis. If you wish for an
answer, could you not ask it in other terms ?"
" Approach, Gaston," said another voice; " we really wish
to speak with you."
" A la bonne heure," said Chanlay, " I recognise you there,
Montlouis; but I confess I am not accustomed to M. de
Pontcalec's manner of proceeding."
" My manners are those of a frank and open Breton,
monsieur," replied the marquis, " of one who has nothing to
hide from his friends, and is willing to be questioned as freely
as he questions others."
" I join M.ontlouis," said another voice, " in begging Gaston
to explain amicably. Surely it is not our interest to quarrel
amongst ourselves."
" Thanks Du Couedic," said De Chanlay, " I am of the
same opinion; so here I am"—and sheathing his sword at
these words, the young man issued from his retreat and
approached the group.
" M. de Tahouet," said Pontcalec, in the tone of a man
who has a right to issue commands, "watch that no one
approaches."
THREE NIGHTS LATER.
19
M. de Tahouet obeyed, and rode round in -a circle, keeping
both eyes and ears open.
"And now," said the marquis, "let us put out our lantern,
since we have found our man !"
" Messieurs," said De Chanlay, "all this seems to me some-
what strange. It appears that you were following me—that
you were seeking for me, now you have found me, and may
put out your lantern. What does it mean ? If it is a joke, I
confess I think both time and place ill-chosen."
" No, monsieur," replied Pontcalec, in his hard, dry voice,
"it is not a joke ; it is an interrogatory."
" An interrogatory ?" said De Chanlay, frowning.
"An explanation, rather," saidMontlouis.
" Interrogatory or explanation, it matters not," said Pont-
calec, " the thing is too serious to argue about words. M. de
Chanlay, I repeat, reply to our questions."
" You speak roughly, Marquis de Pontcalec," replied the
chevalier.
" If I command, it is because I have the right to do so.
Am I, or am I not, your chief?"
" Certainly you are; but that is no reason for forgetting
the consideration which one gentleman owes to another."
" Monsieur de Chanlay, all these objections seem to me
like shuffling. You have sworn to obey—do so now."
" I swore to obey," replied the chevalier, " but not as a
servant."
" You swore to obey as a slave. Obey, then, or submit
to the consequences of your disobedience !"
" Monsieur le Marquis !"
" My dear Gaston," cried Montlouis, " speak, I beg, as
soon as possible : by a word you can remove all suspicion."
" Suspicion !" cried Gaston, pale with anger, " am 1 sus-
pected, then ?"
" Certainly you are," said Pontcalec, with his ordinary
roughness. " Do you think if we did not suspect you we
should amuse ourselves by following you on such a night
as this ?"
" Oh, that is quite another matter !" said Gaston, coldly ;
"tell me your suspicions—I listen."
" Chevalier, remember the facts ; we four were conspiring
2—2
20
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
together, and we did not seek your aid; you offered it,
saying, that besides being willing to aid in the public good,
you had a private revenge to serve in this. Am I not
right?"
"You are."
"We received you — welcomed you as a friend, as a
brother; we told you all our hopes, all our plans; nay,
more—you were elected, by chance, the one to strike the
glorious blow. Each one of us offered to take your part,
but you refused. Is it not so ?"
"You have spoken the strictest truth, marquis.
" This very morning we drew the lots ; this evening you
should be on the road to Paris. Instead of that, where do
we find you ? on the road to Clisson, where are lodged the
mortal enemies of Breton independence, where lives your
sworn foe—the Marechal de Montesquieu."
"Ah ! monsieur," said Gaston, scornfully.
" Reply by open words, and not by sneers : reply, M. de
Chanlay, and quickly."
"Reply, Gaston," said Du Couedic and Montlouis, im-
ploringly.
" And to what am I to reply ?"
" You are to account for your frequent absence during
the last two months—for the mystery which surrounds you
—for refusing, as you do, once or twice weekly, to join our
nightly meetings. We confess, Gaston, all this has made us
uneasy ; by a word you can reassure us."
"You see, monsieur, that you are proved guilty by hiding,
instead of pursuing your course."
" I did not pursue my course, because my horse was
wounded; you may see the stains of blood upon the road."
" But why did you hide ?"
" Because I wished to know first who was pursuing me.
Have I not the fear of being arrested, as well as yourselves ?"
" And where are you going."
" If you had followed my steps as you have done hither-
t >, you would have found that my path did not lead to
Clisson."
" Nor to Paris."
" I beg," said De Chanlay, " that you will trust me, and
THREE NIGHTS LA TER. 2 i
respect my secret — a secret in which not only my own
honour, but that of another, is concerned. You do not
know, perhaps—it may be exaggerated—how extreme is my
delicacy on this point."
" Then it is a love-secret," said Montlouis.
" Yes, and the secret of a first love," replied Gaston.
" All evasions," cried Pontcalec.
-" Marquis !" said Gaston, haughtily.
" This is not saying enough, my friend," replied Du
Couedic. " How can we believe that you are going to a
rendezvous in such weather, and that this rendezvous is not
at Clisson—wheie, except the Augustine Convent, there is
not a single house for two miles around."
" M. de Chanlay," said the Marquis de Pontcalec, in an
agitated voice, " you swore to obey me as your chief, and to
devote soul and body to our holy cause. Monsieur, our
undertaking is serious—our property, our liberties, our lives
and our honour are at stake;—will you reply clearly and
freely to the questions which I put to you in the name of all,
so as to remove all doubts ? If not, Gaston de Chanlay—
by virtue of that right which you gave me, of your own free
will, over your life—if not, I declare, on my honour, I will
blow your brains out with my own hand !"
A solemn silence followed these words; not one voice was
raised to defend Gaston; he looked at each one in turn, and
each one turned away from him.
" Marquis," said the chevalier at length, in a tone of deep
feeling, " not only do you insult me by suspicions, but you
grieve me by saying that I can only remove those suspicions
by declaring my secret. Stay," added he, drawing a pocket-
book from his coat, and hastily pencilling a few words on a
leaf which he tore out; " stay, here is the secret you wish to
know; I hold it in one hand, and in the other I hold a
loaded pistol. Will you make me reparation for the insult
you have offered me ? or, in my turn, I give you my word as
a gentleman that I will blow my brains out. When I am
dead, open my hand and read this paper ; you will then see
if I deserved your suspicions."
And Gaston held the pistol to his head with the calm reso-
lution which showed that he would keep his word.
22 THE REGENT''S DAUGHTER.
" Gaston! Gaston !" cried Montlouis, while Du Couedic
held his arm; " stop, in heaven's name ! Marquis, he would,
do as he said; pardon him, and he will tell us all. Is it not
so, Gaston ? You will not have a secret from your brothers,
who beg you, in the names of their wives and children, to tell
it them."
" Certainly," said the marquis, " I not only pardon but
love him; he knows it well. Let him but prove his inno-
cence, and I will make him every reparation, but, before that,
nothing : he is young, and alone in the world. He has not,
like us, wives and children, whose happiness and whose for-
tune he is risking; he stakes only his own "life, and he holds
that as cheaply as is usual at twenty years of age; but with
his life he risks ours; and yet, let him say but one word
showing a justification, and I will be the first to open my
arms to him."
" Well, marquis," said Gaston, after a few moments' silence,
" follow me, and you shall be satisfied."
" And we ?" asked Montlouis and Du Couedic.
" Come, also, you are all gentlemen; I risk no more in
confiding my secret to all than to one."
The marquis called Tahouet, who had kept good watch,
and now rejoined the group, and followed without asking
what had passed.
All five went on but slowly, for Gaston's horse was lame;
the chevalier guided them towards the convent, then to the
little rivulet, and at ten paces from the iron gate he stopped.
" It is here," said he.
" Here ?"
" At the convent ?"
" Yes, my friends ; there is here, at this moment, a young
girl whom I have loved since I saw her a year ago in the
procession at the Fete Dieu at Nantes; she observed me also
—I followed her, and sent her a letter."
" But how do you see her ?" asked the marquis.
" A hundred louis won the gardener over to my interest;
he has given me a key to this gate; in the summer I come in
a boat to the convent wall; ten feet above the water is a-
window, where she awaits me. If it were lighter, you could
see it from this spot—and, in spite of the darkness I see
it now." '
THREE NIGHTS LATER.
23
"Yes, I understand how you manage in summer, but you
cannot use the boat now."
" True , but, instead, there is a coating of ice, on which I
shall go this evening; perhaps it will break and engulf me ;
so much the better, for then, I hope, your suspicions would
die with me."
"You have taken a load from my breast," said Montlouis.
" Ah ! my poor Gaston, how happy you make me; for, re-
member, Du Couedic and I answered for you."
' Chevalier,'"' said the marquis, " pardon and embrace us."
" Willingly, marquis; but you have destroyed a portion of
my happiness."
" How so ?"
" I wished my love to have been known to no one. I
have so much need of strength and courage ! Am I not to
leave her to-night for ever ?"
"Who knows, chevalier? You look gloomily at the
future."
" I know what I am saying, Montlouis."
" If you succeed—and with your courage and sang-froid
you ought to succeed—France is free : then she will owe
her liberty to you, and you will be master of your own
fate."
" Ah ! marquis, if I succeed, it will be for you ; my own
fate is fixed."
" Courage, chevalier; meanwhile, let us see how you
manage these love affairs."
" Still mistrust, marquis ?"
" Still; my dear Gaston, I mistrust myself: and, na-
turally enough; after being named your chief, all the
responsibility rests on me, and I must watch over you all."
"At least, marquis, I am as anxious to reach the foot of
that wall as you can be to see me, so I shall not keep you
waiting long."
Gaston tied his horse to a tree; by means of a plank
thrown across, he passed the stream, opened the gate, and
then, following the palisades so as to get away from the
stream, he stepped upon the ice, which cracked under his
feet.
" In heaven's name," cried Montlouis, " be prudent."
24
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Look, marquis," said Gaston.
" I believe you ; I believe you, Gaston."
"You give me fresh courage," replied the chevalier.
"And now, Gaston, one word more. When shall you
leave ?"
"To-morrow, at this time, marquis, I shall probably be
thirty leagues on the way to Paris."
" Come back and let us embrace, and say adieu."
" With pleasure."
Gaston retraced his steps, and was embraced cordially by
each of the chevaliers, who did not turn away till they
saw that he had arrived safely at the end of his perilous
journey.
CHANCE BETTER THAN PROVIDENCE.
CHAPTER IV.
showing how chance arrances some matters better
than providence.
In spite of the cracking of the ice, Gaston pursued his way
boldly, and perceived, with a beating heart, that the winter
rains had raised the waters of the little lake, so that he might
possibly be able to reach the window.
He was not mistaken; on giving the signal, the window
was opened, tfcen a head appeared nearly at the level of his
own, and a hand touched his ; it was the first time. Gaston
seized it, and covered it with kisses.
" Gaston, you have come, in spite of the cold, and on the
ice ; I told you in my letter not to do so."
" With your letter on my heart, Helene, I think I can run
no danger; but what have you to tell me ? You have been
crying !"
"Alas, since this morning I have done little else."
" Since this morning," said Gaston, with a sad smile, " that
is strange; if I were not a man, I too should have cried
since this morning."
" What do you say, Gaston ?"
"Nothing, nothing; tell me, what are your griefs,
Helene ?"
"Alas! you know I am not my own mistress. I am a
poor orphan, brought up here, having no other world than
the convent. I have never seen any one to whom I can
give the names of father or mother—my mother I believe to
be dead, and my father is absent; I depend upon an invisible
power, revealed only to our superior. This morning the
good mother sent for me, and announced, with tears in her
eyes, that I was to leave."
"To leave the convent, Helene?"
26
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Yes; my family reclaims me, Gaston."
" Your family ? Alas ! what new misfortune awaits us ?"
" Yes, it is a misfortune, Gaston. Our good mother at
first congratulated me, as if it were a pleasure; but I was
happy here, and wished to remain till I became your wife.
I am otherwise disposed of, but how ?"
" And this order to remove you ?"
" Admits of neither dispute nor delay Alas ! it seems
that I belong to a powerful family, and that I am the
daughter of some great nobleman. When the good mother
told me I must leave, I burst into tears, and fell on my
knees, and said I would not leave her; then, suspecting
that I had some hidden motive, she pressed me, questioned
me, and—forgive me, Gaston—I wanted to confide in some
one , I felt the want of pity and consolation, and I told her
all—that we loved each other—all except the manner
in which we meet. I was afraid if I told her that, that
she would prevent my seeing you this last time to say
adieu."
"But did you not tell, Helene, what were my plans;
that, bound to an association myself for six months, per-
haps for a year, at the end of that time, the very day I
should be free, my name, my fortune, my very life, was
yours ?"
" I told her, Gaston; and this is what makes me think I
am the daughter of some powerful nobleman, for then Mother
Ursula replied : ' You must forget the chevalier, my child,
for who knows that your new family would consent to your
marrying him ?'"
" But do not I belong to one of the oldest families in
Brittany ? and, though I am not rich, my fortune is inde-
pendent. Did you say this, Helene ?"
"Yes; I said to her, 'Gaston chose me, an orphan, with-
out name and without fortune. I may be separated from
him, but it would be cruel ingratitude to forget him, and I
shall never do so."
" Helene, you are an angel. And you cannot then
imagine who are your parents, or to what you are de-
stined ?"
" No; it seems that it is a secret on which all my future
Chance better than providence. 27
happiness depends : only, Gaston, I fear they are high in
station, for it almost appeared as if our superior spoke to me
with deference."
"To you, Helene ?"
« yes."
" So much the better," said Gaston, sighing.
" Do you rejoice at our separation, Gaston ?"
" No, Helene ; but I rejoice that you should find a family
when you are about to lose a friend."
" Lose a friend, Gaston! I have none but you; whom
then should I lose ?"
"At least, I must leave you for some time, He'lene."
"What do you mean?"
" I mean that Fate has endeavoured to make our lots
similar, and that you are not the only one who does not know
what the morrow may bring forth."
" Gaston! Gaston ! what does this strange language
mean ?"
" That I also am subject to a fatality which I must obey
—that I also am governed by an irresistible and superior
power."
" You ! oh heavens !"
"To a power which may condemn me to leave you in a
week—in a fortnight—in a month ; and not only to leave
you, but to leave France."
"Ah, Gaston ! what do you tell me ?"
"What in my love, or rather in my egotism, I have
dreaded to tell you before. I shut my eyes to this hour, and
yet I knew that it must come; this morning they were opened.
I must leave you, Helene."
" But why ? What have you undertaken ? what will be-
come of you ?"
" Alas ! Helene, we each have our secret," said the
chevalier, sorrowfully; "I pray that yours may be less ter-
rible than mine."
" Gaston !"
" Were you not the first to say that we must part, Helene ?
Had not you first the courage to renounce me ? Well;
blessings on you for that courage,—for I, Helene, I had it
not."
28.
THE. REGENTS DAUGHTER.
And at these last words the young man again pressed his
lips to her hand, and Helene could see that tears stood in
his eyes.
" Oh, mon Dieu!" murmured she, " how have we deserved
this misery?''
At this exclamation Gaston raised his head. " Come,"
said he, as if to himself, " courage ! It is useless to struggle
against these necessities ; let us obey without a murmur, and
perhaps our resignation may disarm our fate. Can I see
you again ?"
" I fear not—I leave to-morrow,"
" And on what road ?"
"To Paris."
"Good heavens !" cried Gaston; "and I also."
"You, also, Gaston ?"
" Yes, Helene; we were mistaken, we need not part."
" Oh, Gaston ; is it true ?"
" Helene, we had no right to accuse Providence; not
only can we see each other on the journey, but at Paris we
will not be separated. How do you travel ?"
" In the convent carriage, with post horses and by short
stages."
" Who goes with you ?"
" A nun, who will return to the convent when she has
delivered me over to those who await me."
" All is for the best, Helene. I shall go on horseback, as
a stranger, unknown to you; each evening I may speak to
you, or, if I cannot do so, I shall at least see you—it will be
but a half separation."
And the two lovers, with the buoyant hopes of youth, after
meeting with tears and sadness, parted with smiles and
joyous confidence in the future. Gaston recrossed the frozen
lake, and found, instead of his own wounded horse, that of
Montlouis, and, thanks to this kindness, reached Nantes
safely in less than three quarters of an hour.
THE JOURNEY.
2 9
CHAPTER V.
the journey.
That very night Gaston made his will, and deposited it with
a notary at Nantes.
He left everything to Helene de Chaverny; begged her,
if he died, not to renounce the world, but to accept the
career opening to her youth and beauty; but, as he was the
last of his family, he begged her, in memory of him, to call
her first son Gaston.
He next went to see each of his friends, and once more
told them that he believed the enterprise would be success-
ful. Pontcalec gave him half a piece of gold and a letter,
which he was to present to a certain Captain la Jonquiere,
their correspondent at Paris, who would put Gaston in com-
munication with the important persons he went to seek. He
then put all the ready money he had into a valise, and, ac-
companied only by an old servant named Owen, in whom
he had great confidence, he set out from Nantes.
It was mid-day, a bright sun shone on the stream, and
sparkled on the icicles which hung from the leafless trees,
as Gaston made his way along the deserted road, looking in
vain for anything resembling the convent carriage.
The servant appeared much more anxious to quicken their
pace than Gaston himself did, for to him the journey was
fraught with annoyances, and he was so anxious to arrive at
that Paris of which he had heard such wonderful tales, that
had it been possible, he would willingly have added wings to
their horses' feet.
Gaston, however, travelled slowly as far as Oudon, but the
convent carriage proceeded more slowly still. At Oudon he
halted; he chose the Char Couronne, a house which had
3°
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
some windows overlooking the road, and which, moreover,
was the best inn in the village.
While his dinner was preparing, Gaston, in spite of the
cold, remained in the balcony; but in vain he looked for the
carriage he so much wished to see.
Then he thought that perhaps Helene had preceded him,
and was already in the inn. He went at once to a window
at the back, overlooking the courtyard, to inspect the car-
riages standing there.
His attention was arrested by seeing, not the carriage, but
his servant, Owen, speaking earnestly to a man dressed in
grey and wrapped in a sort of military cloak, who, after a
short conversation, mounted his horse and rode off with the
air of a man to whom speed is of the utmost importance, as
Gaston heard his steps along the road to Paris.
At this moment the servant raised his eyes, and began busily
brushing the snow from his boots and clothes.
Gaston signed to him to approach.
" Who were you talking with, Owen ?"
"To a man, M. Gaston."
" Who is that man ?"
"A traveller—a soldier, who was asking his way."
" His way; to what place ?"
" To Rennes."
" But you could not tell him, for you do not know this
place."
" I asked the landlord, monsieur."
"Why could not he ask himself?"
" Because he had had a quarrel with him about the price
of his dinner, and did not wish to speak to him again."
" Hum," said Gaston.
Nothing was more natural than this, yet Gaston became
thoughtful; but he quickly threw off his suspicions, accusing
himself of becoming timid at a time when he most needed
courage; his brow remained clouded, however, for the carriage
did not appear.
He thought at one moment that Helene might have
chosen another road in order to part from him without noise
or quarrel, but he soon concluded that it was only som-e
accident which delayed her; he sat down again to table,
THE JOURNEY.
31
though he had finished his dinner, and when Owen appeared
to clear away, "Some wine," said he. Owen had already
removed a half empty bottle.
" Some wine ?" repeated the servant in astonishment, for
Gaston usually drank but little.
" Yes, some wine ; is there anything surprising in that ?"
" No, monsieur," replied Owen.
And he transmitted the order for a second bottle of wine
to the waiter. Gaston poured out a glass, drank it, then a
second.
Owen stared.
Then, thinking it both his duty and his interest to prevent
his master's finishing the bottle—
" Monsieur," said he, " I have heard that if you are riding,
it is bad to drink when it is very cold. You forgot that we
have a long way to go, and that it will be getting still colder,
and, if we wait much longer, we shall get no post-horses.
It is nearly three o'clock, now, and at half-past four it will
be dark."
This behaviour surprised Gaston.
" You are in a very great hurry, Owen," said he; " have
you a rendezvous with the man who was asking his way of
you ?"
" Monsieur knows that to be impossible," replied Owen,
" since he is going to Rennes, and we to Paris."
However, under the scrutinising gaze of his master, Owen
turned red, when suddenly, at the sound of wheels, Gaston
ran to the window. It was the dark carriage.
At this sight Gaston darted from the room.-
It was then Owen's turn to run to the window to see
what it was that had so much interested his master. He
saw a green and black carriage stop, from which the driver
alighted and opened the door; then he saw a young lady in
a cloak go into the hotel, followed by an Augustine sister;
the two ladies, announcing that they should only remain to
dine, asked for a room.
But to reach this room they had to cross a public saloon,
in which Gaston stood near the fire-place ; a rapid but
meaning glance was exchanged between him and Helbne,
and, to Gaston's great satisfaction, he recognised in the
32
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
driver of the carriage the convent-gardener. He let him
pass, however, unnoticed, but as he crossed the yard to go to
the stable, he followed him.
He accosted the gardener, who told him that he was to
take the two ladies to Rambouillet, where Helene would
remain, and then he was to take back Sister Therese to
Clisson.
Gaston, raising his eyes suddenly, saw Owen watching
him, and this curiosity displeased him.
" What are you doing there?" asked he.
"Waiting for orders," said Owen.
"Do you know that fellow?" asked Gaston of the gar-
dener
" M. Owen, your servant ? Of course I do ; we are from
the same place."
" So much the worse," murmured Gaston.
"Oh, Owen is an honest fellow,"
" Never mind," said Gaston; " not a word of Helene, I
be&"
The gardener promised; and, indeed, it was his own in-
terest to keep the secret, for, had it been discovered that he
had given Gaston the key, he would have lost his place.
After a hasty meal, the carriage was again ordered, and
at the door Gaston met the ladies, and handed them in.
Chanlay was not quite unknown to the sister, so she thanked
him graciously as he handed her in.
" Monsieur," said Owen, behind the chevalier, "our horses
are ready."
" One more glass," said Gaston, " and I shall start."
To Owen's great surprise, Gaston returned to the room and
ordered a third bottle—for Owen had removed the second,
of which Gaston had only drank his two glasses.
Gaston remained about a quarter of an hour, and then,
having no further* motive for waiting, he set out.
When they had ridden a short distance, they saw the
carriage imbedded in a deep rut, where, in spite of the
efforts of the horses and the gardener, it remained stationary.
Gaston could not leave him in such a dilemma, and the gar-
dener, recognising Owen, called to him for aid. The two
riders dismounted, opened the carriage door, took out the
THE JOURNEY.
33
ladies, and succeeded in freeing the carriage, so that they
were able to proceed.
An acquaintanceship was thus established, and the poor
nun, who was very timid, inquired of Gaston if the road were
safe. Gaston reassured her, and said that he and his ser-
vant would escort them, and his offer was at once accepted
with thanks.
Meanwhile Helene had played her part admirably, show-
ing that a young girl, however simple and naive, has the in-
stinct of dissimulation, which only requires opportunity to
develop itself.
Gaston rode along close to the door, for the road was nar-
row, and Sister Therese asked him many questions. She
learned that he was called the Chevalier de Livry, and was
the brother of one of the young ladies who had been in the
convent school, but who was now married to Montlouis.
They stopped, as previously arranged, at Ancenis.
The gardener confirmed what Gaston had said of his re-
lationship to Mademoiselle de Livry, so that Sister Therese
had no suspicion, and was very friendly with him.
She was, in fact, delighted, on starting the next morning,
to find him already mounted, and to receive his accus-
tomed politeness in handing them into the carriage. As he
did so, he slipped a note into Helene's hand, and b" a glance
she told him he should receive a reply.
Gaston rode by the side of the carriage, for the road was
bad, and assistance was frequently required, either to free a
wheel, to assist the ladies to alight for the purpose of walk-
ing up a steep ascent, or some of the many accidents of a
journey. " My dear IMene," said Sister Therese, several
times, " what would have become of us without the aid of
this gentleman ?".
Before arriving at Angers, Gaston inquired at what hotel
they were going to stay, and, finding that it was the same at
which he intended to put up, he -sent Owen on before to
engage apartments.
When they arrived, he received a note, which Helene had
written during dinner. She spoke of her love and happiness
as though they were secure and everlasting.
But Gaston looked on the future in its true light. Bour.d
3
34
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
by an oath to undertake a terrible mission, he foresaw sad
misfortunes after their present short-lived joy. He remem-
bered that he was about to lose happiness, just as he had
tasted it for the first time, and rebelled against his fate. He
did not remember that he had sought that conspiracy which
now bound him, and which forced him to pursue a path
leading to exile or the scaffold, whilst he had in sight another
path which would lead him direct to happiness.
It is true that when Gaston joined the conspiracy he did
not know Helene, and thought himself alone in the world.
At twenty years of age he had believed that the world had
no pleasure for him; then he had met Helene, and the world
became full of pleasure and hope : but it was too late; he
had already entered on a career from which he could not
draw back.
Meanwhile, in the pre-occupation of his mind, Gaston had
quite forgotten his suspicions of Owen, and had not noticed
that he had spoken to two cavaliers similar to the one whom
he had seen the first evening ; but Owen lost nothing of what
passed between Gaston and Helene.
As they approached the end of their journey, Gaston be-
came sad ; and when the landlord at Chartres replied to the
question of Sister Therese, "Tomorrow you may, if you
choose, reach Rambouillet," it was as though he had said,
"To-morrow you separate for ever."
Helene, who loved as women love, with the strength, or
rather the weakness, to sacrifice everything to that love,
could not understand Gaston's passive submission to the
decrees of Providence, and she would have preferred to have
seen him make some effort to combat them.
But Helene was in this unjust to Gaston; the same ideas
tormented him. He knew that at a word from him Helene
would follow him to the end of the world—-he had plenty of
gold—it would be easy for Helene one evening, instead of
going to rest, to go with him. into a post-chaise, and in two
days they would be beyond the frontier, free and happy, not
for a day or a month, but for ever.
But one word, one little word, opposed itself to all this.
That word was honour. He had given his oajtn, and he
would be disgraced if he did not keep it.
THE JOURNEY.
35
The last evening Helene expected that Gaston would
speak, but in vain, and she retired to rest with the convic-
tion that Gaston did not love her as she loved him.
That night Gaston never slept, and he rose pale and
despairing. They breakfasted at a little village. The nun
thought that in the evening she would begin her homeward
journey towards her beloved convent, Helene thought that
it was now too late to act, even if Gaston should speak.
Gaston thought that he was about to lose for ever the woman
whom he loved.
About three o'clock in the afternoon they all alighted to
walk up a steep hill, from the summit of which they could
see before them a steeple and a number of houses. It was
Rambouillet; they did not know it, but they felt that it was.
Gaston was the first to break the silence. " There," said
he, "our paths separate. Helene, I implore you preserve
the recollection of me, and, whatever happens, do not con-
demn or curse me."
" Gaston, you only speak of the most terrible things. I
need courage, and you take it from me. Have you nothing
joyful to tell me ? I know the present is dark, but is the
future also as dreadful ? Are there not many years, and there-
fore many hopes, to look forward to ? We are young—we
love one another; are there no means of struggling against
the fate which threatens us ? Oh, Gaston ! I feel in myself
a great strength, and if you but say but no, I am mad; it
is I who suffer, and yet I who console."
" I understand you, Helene—you want a promise, do you
not ? Well, judge if I am wretched; I dare not promise.
You tell me to hope, and I can but despair. If I had ten
years, five years, one year, at my own disposal, I would offer
them to you, Helene, and think myself blessed, but from the
moment I leave you, we lose each other. From to-morrow
morning I belong no more to myself."
" Oh !" cried Helene, " unhappy that I am, did you then
deceive me when you said you loved me; are you pledged
to another ?"
" At least, my poor Helene," said Gaston, " on this point
I can reassure you. I have no other love."
3—2
36
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Then we may yet be happy, Gaston, if my new family
will recognise you as my husband."
" Helene, do you not see that every word you utter stabs
me to the heart ?"
" But at least tell me what it is."
"Fate, which I cannot escape5 ties which I dare not
break."
" I know of none such," cried the young girl. "I am
promised a family, riches, station, and a name ; and yet,
Gaston, say but one word and I leave them all for you.
Why, then, will you not do as much for me ?"
Gaston answered not; and at this moment Sister Therese
rejoined them, and they again got into the carriage. When
they neared the town, the nun called Gaston, told him that,
perhaps, some one might come to meet Helene, and that a
stranger should not be seen with them. Gaston bowed
silently and sadly, and turned to leave them.
Helene was no ordinary woman; she saw Gaston's dis-
tress. " Is it adieu, or au revoir ?" cried she, boldly.
" Au revoir," said Gaston, and he rode off quickly.
A ROOM IN THE HOTEL AT RAMBOUILLET. 37
CHAPTER VI.
a room in the hotel at rambouillet.
Gaston went away without saying how they were to meet
again; but Helene thought that he would certainly manage
that, and she contented herself with watching him as long as
she could. Ten minutes later the carriage stopped at the
Tigre-Royal. A woman, who was waiting, came out hastily,
and respectfully assisted the ladies to alight, and then guided
them through the passages of the hotel, preceded by a valet
carrying lights.
A door opened, Madame Desroches drew back to allow
Helene and Sister Therese to pass, and they soon found
themselves on a soft and easy sofa, in front of a bright
fire.
The room was large and well furnished, but the taste was
severe, for the style called Rococo was not yet introduced.
There were four doors; the first was that by which they had
entered—the second led to the dining-room, which was already
lighted and warmed—the third led into a richly-appointed
bedroom—the fourth did not open.
Helene admired the magnificence of all around her—the
quiet and respectful manner of the servants; while Sister
Therese rejoiced, when she saw the smoking supper, that it
was not a fast day.
Presently Madame Desroches returned, and approaching
the sister, handed her a letter. She opened it, and read as
follows :
" Sister Therese may pass the night at Rambouillet, or
leave again at once, according to her own wish. She will
receive two hundred louis offered to the convent by Helene,
and will give up her charge to the care of Madame
38
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
Desroches, who is honoured by the confidence of Helene's
parents."
At the bottom of the letter, instead of a signature, was a
cipher, which the sister compared with that on a letter
which she had brought from Clisson. The identity being
proved—
" My child," said she, " I leave you after supper."
" S) soon !" said Helene, to whom Therese was now the
only link to her past life.
" Yes, my child. It is at my option to sleep here, but I
prefer to return at once ; for I wish to be again at home,
where the only thing wanting to my happiness will be your
presence."
Helene threw herself on Therese's neck, weeping. She
recalled her youth, passed so happily among affectionate
companions, and she again saw the towers and steeples of
her former residence.
They sat down to table, and Sister Therese hastily par-
took of some refreshment, then embraced Helene, who
wished to accompany her to the carriage; but Madame
Desroches begged her not to do so, as the hotel was full of
strangers.
Hele'ne then asked permission to see the poor gardener,
who had been their escort, once more. This man had
become a friend to her, and she quitted him and Therese
sadly.
Madame Desroches, seeing that Hele'ne felt vainly in her
pocket, said, " Does mademoiselle want anything ?"
" Yes," said Helene; " I should wish to give a souvenir to
this good man."
Madame Desroches gave Helene twenty-five louis, and
she, without counting them, slipped them into the gar-
dener's hand, who overwhelmed her with tears and thanks.
At length they were forced to part, and Heldne, hearing
the sound of their carriage driving away, threw herself on a
sofa, weeping.
Madame Desroches reminded her that she had eaten
nothing. Helene insisted that she should sup with her.
After her meal she showed Helene her bed-room, saying,
" Will mademoiselle ring when she requires her femme-
A ROOM IN THE HOTEL AT RAMBOUILLET. 39
de-chambre; for this evening mademoiselle will receive a
visit."
" A visit!" cried Helene.
"Yes, mademoiselle ; from a relation/'
" And is it the one who watches over me ?"
"From your birth, mademoiselle."
" Oh, mon Dieu !" cried Helene ; "and he is coming?"
" He is most anxious to know you."
f i Oh," murmured Hele'ne ; " I feel as if I should faint."
Madame Desroches ran to her, and supported her.
" Do you feel so much terror," asked she, "at seeing one
who loves you ?"
" It is not terror, it is agitation," said Helene. " I did
not know that it would be to-night; and this important news
quite overcomes me."
" But I have not told you all: this person is necessarily
surrounded by mystery."
"Why so?"
"I am forbidden to reply to that question, made-
moiselle."
" What necessity can there be for such precautions with a
poor orphan like me ?"
"They are necessary, believe me."
" But in what do they consist ?"
" Firstly, you may not see the face of this person; so
that you may not recognize him if you meet him in the
world."
" Then he will come masked ?"
" No, mademoiselle : but the lights will be extin-
guished."
" Then we shall be in darkness ?"
"Yes."
" But you will remain with me, Madame Desroches."
"No, mademoiselle; that is expressly forbidden."
" By whom ?"
" By the person who is coming."
" But do you, then, owe such absolute obedience to this
person ?"
"More than that, mademoiselle, I owe him the deepest
respect."
40
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Is he, then, of such high station ?"
" He is of the very highest in France."
" And he is my relation ?"
" The nearest."
"For heaven's sake, Madame Desroches, do not leave me
in uncertainty on this point."
"I have already told you, mademoiselle, that there are
some questions to which I am expressly forbidden to reply,"
and she was about to retire.
" Why do you leave me ?" asked Helene.
" I leave you to your toilette."
" But, madame "
Madame Desroches made a low, ceremonious courtesy,
and went out of the room, closing the door behind her.
THE DUC HO RLE A AS.
CHAPTER VII.
a servant in the royal livery.—monseigneur le
duc d'orleans.
While the things which we have related were passing in
the parlour of the hotel Tigre-Royal, in another apartment
of the same hotel, seated near a large fire, was a man
shaking the snow from his boots, and untying the strings
of a large portfolio. This man was dressed in the hunting
livery of the house of Orleans; the coat red and silver,
large boots, and a three-cornered hat, trimmed with silver.
He had a quick eye, a long pointed nose, a round and open
forehead, which was contradicted by thin and compressed
lips.
This man murmured to himself some phrases which he
interrupted by oaths and exclamations, which seemed less
the result of words than thoughts.
" Come, come," said he, " M. de Montaran did not de-
ceive me, and our Bretons are hard at the work; but for
what earthly reason can he have come by such short stages ?
He left at noon on the nth, and only arrived on the evening
of the 21 st. This probably hides some new mystery, which
will be explained by the fellow recommended by Montaran,
and with whom my people were in communication on the
journey. Hola!"
And he rang a silver bell. A man, dressed in grey, like
those we have seen on the route, appeared.
" Ah ! it is you, Tapin?"
" Yes, monseigneur; the affair being important, I thought
it better to come myself."
"Have you questioned the men you placed on the
road ?"
"Yes, monseigneur; but they know nothing but the places
42
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
at which our conspirators stopped; in fact, that is all they
were told to learn."
" I will try to learn from the servant. What sort of man
is he ?"
" Oh, a mischievous simpleton, half Norman, half Breton;
a bad fellow."
" What is he about now ?"
"Serving his master's supper."
"Whom, I hope, they have placed as I desired?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
" In a room without curtains ?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
"And you have made a hole in the shutter ?"
" Yes, monseigneur."
" Well, then, send me the servant, and remain within
call."
The man in the red coat consulted his watch.
" Half-past eight," said he; " at this hour monseigneur
the regent returns to St. Germain's and asks for Dubois; as
Dubois is not there, he rubs his hands and prepares for some
folly. Rub your hands, Philippe d'Orleans, and amuse your-
self at your pleasure, for the danger is not at Paris, but here.
We shall see if you will laugh at my secret police this time.
Ah ! here is our man."
At this moment Tapin introduced Owen.
" Here is the person you wished to see," said he.
Owen remained standing, trembling, near the door, while
Dubois wrapped himself in a large cloak, which left only the
upper part of his face visible to him on whom he fixed his
cat-like eyes.
" Approach, my friend," said Dubois.
In spite of the cordiality of this invitation, it was given
In so harsh a voice that Owen would have preferred being
at a greater distance from this man, who looked at him so
strangely.
" Well, fellow," said Dubois, seeing that he did not stir,
" did you not hear me ?"
" Yes, monseigneur," said Owen.
" Then why do you not obey ?"
" I did not know you spoke to me."
THE DUC D'ORLEANS.
43
And Owen then stepped forward.
" You have received fifty louis to speak the truth to me,"
continued Dubois.
" Pardon, monseigneur," said Owen, who began to recover
his composure; " I have not received them; they were
promised to me, but "
Dubois took a handful of gold from his pocket, counted
fifty louis, and placed them in a pile on the table.
Owen looked at the pile with an expression of which one
would have supposed his dull countenance incapable.
" Good," thought Dubois; " he is avaricious."
In reality, the fifty louis had always appeared very doubtful
to Owen. He had betrayed his master with scarcely a hope
of obtaining his reward; and now the promised, gold was
before his eyes.
" May I take them ?" asked Owen, spreading his hand
towards them.
" Wait a moment," said Dubois, who amused himself by
exciting that cupidity which any but a peasant would have
concealed; " we will make a bargain."
" What is it ?" asked Owen.
" Here are the fifty louis."
" I see them," said Owen, passing his tongue over his lips,
like a thirsty dog.
"At every answer you make to a question of mine, I
either add ten louis if it is important, or take them away if
it is unimportant and stupid."
Owen started; he did not like the terms.
" Now," said Dubois, "let us talk. What place have you
come from?"
" Direct from Nantes."
"With whom?"
"With the Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay."
These being preliminary questions, the pile remained un-
disturbed.
" Listen !" said Dubois.
"I am all attention."
" Did your master travel under his own name ?"
" He set out in his own name, bu»t changed it on the
journey."
44
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" What name did he take ?"
" M. de Livry."
Dubois added ten louis, but as they would not stand on
the others, he commenced a second pile.
Owen uttered a joyful cry.
" Oh," said Dubois, " do not exult yet. We are not near
the end. Is there a M. de Livry at Nantes ?"
" No, monseigneur; but there is a Demoiselle de Livry."
" Who is she ?"
" The wife of M. de Montlouis, an intimate friend of my
master."
" Good," said Dubois, adding ten louis; " and what was
your master doing at Nantes ?"
" What most young men do; he hunted, danced, and
so on."
Dubois took away ten louis. 1 Owen shuddered.
" Stop," said he, "he did something else."
" Ah ! what was that ?"
" I do not know," replied Owen.
Dubois held the ten louis in his hand.
" And since his departure, what has he done ?"
"He passed through Oudon, Ancenis, Le Mans, Nogent,
and Chartres."
Dubois stretched out his hand, and took up another ten
louis.
Owen uttered a dolorous cry.
" And did he make no acquaintance on the route ?"
" Yes ; with a young lady from the Augustine convent at
Clisson, who was travelling with a sister of the convent,
named Therese."
" And what was the young lady called ?"
" Mademoiselle Helene de Chaverny."
" Helene ! A promising name. Doubtless, she is your
master's mistress ?"
" I do not know," said Owen; " he would not have told
me."
"He is a shrewd fellow," said Dubois, taking ten louis
Trom the fifty.
Owen trembled : four such answers, and he would have
betrayed his master for nothing.
THE DUC HORLEANS.
45
" And these ladies are going to Paris with him ?"
"No, monseigneur; they stop at Rambouillet."
" Ah," said Dubois.
The tone of this exclamation gave Owen some hope.
"Come," said Dubois, "all this is not very important, but
one must encourage beginners."
And he added ten louis to the pile.
" Sister Therese," continued Owen, " is already gone
home."
" So that the young lady remains alone ?"
"No," answered Owen.
" How so ?"
"A lady from Paris awaited her."
" From Paris ?"
" Yes."
" Do you know her name ?"
" I heard Sister Therese call her Madame Desroches."
"Madame Desroches!" cried Dubois, and he began another
pile with ten louis.
" Yes," replied Owen, delighted.
"Are you sure?"
" Of course I am; she is a tall, thin, yellow-looking
woman."
Dubois added ten louis. Owen thought that if he had
made an interval between each adjective he might have had
twenty louis.
"Thin, tall, yellow," repeated Dubois; "just so."
" From forty to forty-five," added Owen.
" Exactly," said Dubois, adding ten louis.
" In a silk dress, with large flowers on it."
" Very good," said Dubois.
Owen saw that his questioner knew enough about the lady,
and waited.
"And you say that your master made acquaintance with
the young lady en route ?"
"Yes, monsieur, but I think it was a farce."
<( What do you mean ?"
" I mean that they knew each other before; and I am
sure of one thing, that my master waited for her three hours
at Oudon."
46
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Bravo," said Dubois, adding ten louis; " we shall make
something of you."
"You do not wish to know anything more, then?" asked
Owen, extending his hand towards the two piles of gold.
" Stop," said Dubois ; " is the young lady pretty ?"
" Beautiful as an angel," answered Owen.
" And, no doubt, they made an appointment to meet in
Paris ?"
"No, monsieur, I think they said adieu forever."
" Another farce."
" I do not think so, monsieur; my master was so sad when
they separated."
"And they are not to meet again ?"
" Yes, once more, I think, and all will be over."
"Well, take your money; and remember that, if you
mention one word of this, in ten minutes you will be a dead
man."
Owen snatched the money, which disappeared in his
pocket instantly.
" And now," said he, " may I go ?"
"No, idiot; from this moment you belong to me, for I
have bought you, and you will be more useful to me at Paris
than elsewhere."
" In that case I will remain, monsieur, I promise."
" There is no need to promise."
At this moment the door opened, and Tapin appeared,
looking very much agitated.
" What has happened now ?" asked Dubois.
" Something very important, monseigneur; but send away
this man."
"Return to your master," said Dubois, "and if he writes
to any one whatever, remember that I am most anxious to
see his writing."
Owen went out, delighted to be set free.
"Well, Tapin," said Dubois, "what is it?"
" Monseigneur, after the hunt at St. Germain's, his royal
highness, instead of returning to Paris, sent away every one,
and gave orders to proceed to Rambouillet."
" The regent coming to Rambouillet!"
" He will be here in half an hour, and would have been
THE DUC HORLEANS.
47
here now, if hunger had not luckily obliged him to enter the
chateau and procure some refreshment."
" And what is he coming to Rambouillet for ?"
" I do not know, monseigneur, unless it be for the young
girl who has just arrived with a nun, and who is now in the
pavilion of the hotel."
"You are right, Tapin; it is doubtless for her; and
Madame Desroches, too. Did you know that Madame
Desroches was here ?"
"No, monseigneur, I did not."
" And are you sure that your information is correct, my
dear Tapin?"
" Oh, monseigneur, it was from L'Eveille, whom I placed
near his royal highness, and what he says is gospel truth."
" You are right," said Dubois, who seemed to know the
qualities of this man, "if it be L'Eveille, there is no doubt."
"The poor fellow has lamed his horse, which fell near
Rambouillet."
" Thirty louis for the horse; he may gain what he can
of it."
Tapin took the thirty louis.
"You know the situation of the pavilion, do you not?"
" Perfectly."
" Where is it ?"
" One side looks on the second courtyard; the other on
a deserted lane."
" Place men in the courtyard and in the lane, disguised
as stablemen, or how you please; let no one enter the
pavilion but monseigneur and myself; the life of his royal
highness is at stake."
"Rest easy, monseigneur."
" Do you know our Breton ?"
" I saw him dismount."
" Do your men know him ?"
" They all saw him on the road."
"Well, I recommend him to you."
" Shall we arrest him ?"
" Certainly not; he must be allowed to go where he
pleases, and act as he pleases, and he must have every
opportunity to do so. If he were arrested now, he would
4-8
THE REGENTS LA UGHTER.
tell nothing, and our plans would be disconcerted; no, no,
these plans must hatch."
"Hatch what, monseigneur?" said Tapin, who appeared
to be on confidential terms with Dubois.
" My archbishop's mitre, M. Lecocq," said Dubois, " and
now to your work; I go to mine."
Both left the room and descended the staircase, but
separated at the door; Lecocq went along the Rue de
Paris; and Dubois, slipping along by the wall, went to peep
through the hole in the shutter.
THE UTILITY OF A SEAL
49
CHAPTER VIII.
the utility of a seal.
Gaston had just supped ; for at his age, whether a man be
in despair or in love, nature asserts her rights. He was
leaning on the table thoughtfully. The lamp threw a light
over his face, and enabled Dubois to gratify his curiosity.
He looked at him with an attention almost alarming : his
quick eye darted—his lip curled with a smile, which gave one
the idea of a demon smiling at the sight of one of those victims
who seem to have vowed their own perdition.
While looking, he murmured, "Young, handsome, black
eyes, proud lips—he is a Breton, he is not corrupted, like the
conspirators of Cellamare, by the soft glances of the ladies at
court;—then the other spoke of carrying off, dethroning,
but this one—diable, this one; and yet," continued he,
after a pause, " I look in vain for traces of cunning on
that open brow. I see no Machiavelism in the corners of
that mouth, so full of loyalty and honour ; yet no doubt all
is arranged to surprise the regent on his visit to this Clisson
demoiselle. Who will say again that Bretons have dull
brains ?
" No," said Dubois, after another pause, " it cannot be so.
It is impossible that this young man with his calm sad face
should be ready in a quarter of an hour to kill a man, and
that man the first prince of the blood. No, I cannot believe
in such sang-froid; and yet the regent has kept this amourette
secret even from me ; he goes out to hunt at St. Germain's,
announces aloud that he shall sleep at the Palais-Royal, then
all at once gives counter orders, and drives to Rambouillet.
At Rambouillet, the young girl waits, and is received by
Madame Desroches; who can she be watching for, if not
4
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
for the regent ? and this young girl is the mistress of the
chevalier—but is she ?—Ah ! we must learn. We must
find out how far we can depend on Owen," and Dubois left
his observatory and waited on the staircase—he was quite
hidden in the shade, and he could see Gaston's door in the
light.
The door presently opened, and Owen appeared.
He held a letter in his hands, and after hesitating a minute,
he appeared to have taken his determination, and mounted
the staircase.
" Good," said Dubois, " he has tasted the forbidden fruit,
and he is mine."
Then, stopping Owen : " give me the letter which you
were bringing me, and wait here."
" How did you know I had a letter ?;' asked Owen, be-
wildered.
Dubois shrugged his shoulders, took the letter, and dis-
appeared.
In his room he examined the seal; the chevalier, who had
no wax, had used that on the bottle, and had sealed it with
the stone of a ring.
Dubois held the letter above the candle, and the wax
melted. He opened the letter and read :
" Dear Helene,—Your courage has doubled mine;
manage so that I can enter the house, and you shall know my
plans."
" Oh!" said Dubois, " it seems she does not know them
yet. Things are not as far advanced as I supposed."
He resealed the letter with one of the numerous rings
which he wore, and which resembled that of the chevalier,
and calling Owen—
"Here," said he, "is your master's letter; deliver it
faithfully, bring me the answer, and you shall have ten louis."
"Ah !" thought Owen, "has this man a mine of gold?"
And he went off.
Ten minutes after he returned with the reply.
It was on scented and ornamented paper, sealed with the
letter H.
THE UTILITY OF A SEAL.
t)ubois opened a box, took out a kind of paste in which
he was about to take the impression of the seal, when he
observed that from the manner in which it Was folded, he
could read it without opening. It was as follows :
" The person who sent for me at Bretagne is coming to
meet me here instead of waiting at Paris, so impatient is he,
I am told, to see me. I think he will leave again to-night.
Come to-morrow morning before nine. 1 will tell you all that
has passed, and then we can arrange how to act."
" This," said Dubois, still taking Helene for the chevalier's
accomplice, "makes it clearer. If this is the way they bring
up young ladies at Clisson, I congratulate them and mon-
seigneur, who, from her age, concludes her to be simple and
ingenuous. Here," said he to Owen, " here is the letter, and
your ten louis."
Owen took them.
At this moment ten o'clock struck, and the rolling of a
carriage was heard. Dubois went to the window, and saw it
stop at the hotel door.
In the carriage was a gentleman whom Dubois at once
recognized as Lafare, captain of his royal highness's
guards. "Well," said he, "he is more prudent than I
thought; but where is he ? Ah !"
This exclamation was uttered at the sight of a man dressed
in the same red livery which he himself concealed under his
cloak, and who followed the carriage mounted on a superb
Spanish jenet, which, however, he could not have ridden
long, for while the carriage horses were covered with foam,
this one was quite fresh.
Lafare at once demanded a room and supper; mean-
while the man dismounted, threw the reins to a page, and
went towards the pavilion.
" Well," said Dubois, " all this is as clear as a mountain
stream; but how is it that the face of the chevalier does
not appear ? is he too much occupied with his chicken to
have heard the carriage? Let us see. As to you, mon-
seigneur," continued Dubois, " be assured; I will not
disturb your tete-a-tete. Enjoy at your pleasure this
4—2
52
TtiE REGENTS DAUGHTER
commencement of ingenuity, which promises such happy
results. Ah ! monseigneur, it is certain that you are short-
sighted."
Dubois went down, and again took up his post at his
observatory. As he approached it, Gaston rose, after put-
ting his note in his pocket-book.
" Ah," said Dubois, " I must have that pocket-book. I
would pay high for it. He is going out, he buckles on his
sword, he looks for his cloak; where is he going ? Let us
see : to wait for his Royal Highness's exit ? No, no, that is
not the face of a man who is going to kill another; I could
sooner believe he was about to spend the evening under the
windows of his sweetheart.
" Ah, if he had that idea it would be a means—■—"
It would be difficult to render the expression which passed
over the face of Dubois at this moment.
" Yes, but if I were to get a sword-thrust in the enterprise,
how monseigneur would laugh; bah ! there is no danger:
our men are at their post, and besides, nothing venture,
nothing gain."
Encouraged by this reflection, Dubois made the circuit of
the hotel, in order to appear at one end of the little lane as
Gaston appeared at the other.
As he had expected, at the end of the lane he found
Tapin, who had placed L'Eveille' in the courtyard; in two
words he explained his project. Tapin pointed out to Du-
bois one man leaning on the step of an outer door, a second
was playing a kind of Jew's Harp, and seemed an itinerant
musician, and there was another, too well hidden to be
seen.
Dubois, thus sure of support, returned into the lane.
He soon perceived a figure at the other end, and at once
recognised the chevalier, who was too thoughtful even to
notice that he was passing any one.
Dubois wanted a quarrel, and he saw that he must take
the initiative. He turned and stopped before the chevalier,
who was trying to discover which were the windows of the
room in which Hdlene was.
" My friend," said he roughly, "what are'you doing at this
hour before this house ?"
THE UTILITY OF A SEAL.
53
Gaston was obliged to bring back his thoughts to the
materialism of life.
" Did you speak to me, monsieur ?" said he.
" Yes," replied Dubois, " I asked what you were doing
here."
"Pass on," said the chevalier; "I do not interfere with
you; do not interfere with me."
" That might be," said Dubois, " if your presence did not
annoy me."
" This lane, narrow as it is, is wide enough for both, mon-
sieur; walk on one side, and I will walk on the other."
" I wish to walk alone," said Dubois, " therefore, I beg
you will choose some other window; there are plenty at
Rambouillet to choose from."
"And why should I not look at these windows if I
choose ?" asked Chanlay.
" Because they are those of my wife," replied Dubois.
" Of your wife !"
"Yes; of my wife, who has just arrived from Paris, and
of whom I am jealous, I warn you."
" Diable," murmured Gaston; " he must be the husband
of the person to whom Helene has been given in charge ;"
and in order to conciliate a person who might be useful to
him—
" Monsieur," said he politely, " in that case I am willing
to leave a place where I was walking without any object in
view."
" Oh," thought Dubois, " here is a polite conspirator; I
must have a quarrel."
Gaston was going away.
"You are deceiving me, monsieur," said Dubois.
The chevalier turned as though he had been bitten by a
serpent; however, prudent for the sake of Helene, and for
the mission he had undertaken, he restrained himself.
" Is it," said he, " because I was polite that you disbelieve
my word ?"
"You spoke politely because you were afraid; but it is none
the less true that I saw you looking at that window."
" Afraid—I afraid !" cried Chanlay, facing him; " did you
say that I was afraid ?"
54
THE REGENT'S DA UGHTER.
u I did," replied Dubois.
" Do you, then, seek a quarrel ?"
"It appears so. I see you come from Quimper—Cor-
entin."
" Paques-Dieu !" said Gaston, drawing his sword, " draw!"
" And you, off with your coat," said Dubois, throwing off
his cloak, and preparing to do the same with his coat.
" Why so ?" asked the chevalier.
" Because I do not know you, monsieur, and because those
who walk at night frequently have their coat prudently lined
with a shirt of mail."
At these words the chevalier's cloak and coat were thrown
aside; but, at the moment when Gaston was about to rush on
his adversary, the four men appeared and seized him.
"A duel, monsieur," cried they, "in spite of the king's
prohibition !" and they dragged him towards the door.
" An assassination," murmured Gaston, not daring to cry
out, for fear of compromising Helene ; " cowards !"
"We are betrayed, monsieur," said Dubois, rolling up
Gaston's cloak and coat, and putting them under his arm;
"we shall meet again to-morrow, no doubt."
And he ran towards the hotel, while they shut up Gaston
in the lower room.
Dubois ran up the staircase and into his room, where he
opened the precious pocket-book. He found in one pocket
a broken coin and a man's name. This coin was evi-
dently a sign of recognition, and the name was probably
that of the man to whom Gaston was addressed, and who
was called Captain la Jonquiere. The paper was oddly
folded.
" La jQnquiere," said Dubois; " we have our eyes on him
already."
He looked over the rest of the pocket-book—there was
nothing.
" It is little," said Dubois, " but it is enough."
He folded a paper like the other, took the name, and rang
the bell.
Some one knocked; the door was fastened inside. " I
forgot," said Dubois, opening it, and giving entrance to Mon-
sieur Tapin.
THE UTILITY OF A SEAL,
55
" What have you done with him ?"
" He is in the lower room, and watched."
" Take back his cloak and coat to the place where he threw
them; make your excuses, and set him free. Take care
that everything is in his pockets^ so that he may suspect
nothing. Bring me my coat and cloak."
Monsieur Tapin bowed low, and went to obey his
orders.
56
THE.REGENTS DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER IX.
the visit.
All this passed, as we have said, in the lane under Helene's
windows. She had heard the noise; and, as among the
voices she thought she distinguished that of the chevalier, she
ran anxiously to the window, when, at the same moment,
Madame Desroches appeared.
She came to beg Helene to go into the drawing-room, as
the visitor had arrived.
Helene started, and nearly fell; her voice failed her, and
she followed, silent and trembling.
The room into which Madame Desroches led her was
without any light, except what was thrown on the carpet by
the last remains of a fire. Madame Desroches threw some
water over the flame, and left the room entirely dark.
Begging Helene to have no fear, Madame Desroches with-
drew. The instant after, Helene heard a voice behind the
fourth door, which had not yet opened.
She started at the sound, and involuntarily made a few
steps towards the door.
" Is she ready ?" said th® voice.
" Yes, monseigneur," was the reply.
" Monseigneur !" murmured Helene ; " who is coming,
then ?"
" Is she alone ?"
" Yes, monseigneur."
" Is she aware of my arrival ?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
" We shall not be interrupted ?"
" Monseigneur may rely upon me,"
" And no light ?"
THE VISIT.
57
" None whatever."
The steps approached, then stopped.
" Speak frankly, Madame Desroches," said the voice. " Is
she as pretty as they said ?"
" More beautiful than your highness can imagine."
" Your highness ! who can he be ?" thought Helene,
much agitated.
At this moment the door creaked on its hinges and a
heavy step approached.
" Mademoiselle," said the voice, " I beg you to receive
and hear me."
" I am here," said Helene, faintly.
" Are you frightened ?"
"I confess it, mon . Shall I say 'monsieur' or mon-
seigneur' ?"
"Say 'my friend.'"
At this moment her hand touched that of the unknown.
" Madame Desroches, are you there ?" asked Helene,
drawing back.
" Madame Desroches," said the voice, " tell mademoiselle
that she is as safe as in a temple before God."
" Ah ! monseigneur, I am at your feet, pardon me."
" Rise, my child, and seat yourself there. Madame Des-
roches, close all the doors ; and now," continued he, " give
me your hand, I beg."
Helene's hand again met that of the stranger, and this time
it was not withdrawn.
" He seems to tremble also," murmured she.
" Tell me, are you afraid, dear child ?"
" No," replied Helene ; " but when your hand clasps mine,
a strange thrill passes through me."
" Speak to me, Helene," said the unknown, with an ex-
pression of tenderness. " I know already that you are
beautiful, but this is the first time I have heard your voice.
Speak—I am listening."
" But have you seen me, then ?" asked Helene.
" Do you remember that two years ago the abbess had
your portrait taken ?"
"Yes, I remember—an artist came expressly from Paris,"
" It was I who sent him."
58
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER,
" And was the portrait for you ?"
" It is here," said the unknown, taking from his pocket
a miniature, which Helene could feel, though she could not
see it.
" But what interest could you have in the portrait of a poor
orphan ?"
" Helene, I am your father's friend."
" My father ! Is he alive ?"
"Yes."
" Shall I ever see him ?"
" Perhaps."
" Oh !" said Helene, pressing the stranger's hand, " I bless
you for bringing me this news."
" Dear child!" said he.
" But if he be alive," said Helene, " why has he not sought
out his child ?"
" He had news of you every month; and though at a dis-
tance, watched over you."
" And yet," said Helene, reproachfully, " he has not seen
me for sixteen years."
" Believe me, none but the most important reasons would
have induced him to deprive himself of this pleasure."
" I believe you, monsieur; it is not for me to accuse my
father."
" No; it is for you to pardon him if he accuses himself."
" To pardon him !" cried Helene.
"Yes ; and this pardon, which he cannot ask for himself,
I ask in his name."
" Monsieur," said Helene, " I do not understand you."
" Listen, then, and give me back your hand."
" Here it is."
" Your father was an officer in the king's service; at the
battle of Nerwinden, where he charged at the head of the
king's household troops, one of his followers, called M. de
Chaverny, fell near him, pierced by a ball. Your father
wished to assist him, but the wound was mortal, and the
wounded man, who knew that it was so, said, ' Think not of
me, but of my child.' Your father pressed his hand as a pro-
mise, and the man fell back and died, as though he only
waited this assurance to close his eyes. You are listening,
are you not, H£lbne ?"
THE VISIT.
59
" Oh! need you ask such a question ?" said the young
girl.
" At the end of the campaign, your father's first care was
for the little orphan. She was a charming child, of from ten
to twelve years, who promised to be as beautiful as you are.
The death of M. de Chaverny, her father, left her without
support or fortune; your father placed her at the convent of
the Faubourg Saint Antoine, and announced that at a proper
age he should give her a dowry."
" I thank God," cried Helene, " for having made me the
child of a man who so nobly kept his promise."
"Wait, Helene," said the unknown, "for now comes the
time when your father will not receive your praises."
Helene was silent.
The unknown continued : " Your father, indeed, watched
over the orphan till her eighteenth year. She was an adorable
young girl, and his visits to the convent became longer and
more frequent than they should have been; your father
began to love his protegee. At first he was frightened at his
own love, for he remembered his promise to her dying
father. He begged the superior to look for a suitable
husband for Mademoiselle de Chaverny, and was told that
her nephew, a young Breton, having seen her, loved her, and
wished to obtain her hand."
"Well, monsieur?" asked Helene, hearing that the un-
known hesitated to proceed.
" Well; your father's surprise was great, Helene, when he
learned from the superior that Mademoiselle de Chaverny had
replied that she did not wish to marry, and that her greatest
desire was to remain in the convent where she had been
brought up, and that the happiest day of her life would be
that on which she should pronounce her vows.
" She loved some one," said Helene.
"Yes, my child, you are right—alas ! we cannot avoid our
fate—Mademoiselle de Chaverny loved your father. For a
long time she kept her secret, but one day, when your father
begged her to renounce her strange wish to take the veil, the
poor child confessed all. Strong against his love when he
did not believe it returned, he succumbed when he found he
had but to desire and to obtain. They were both so young
6o
THE REGENTS DA UGHTER.
—your father scarcely twenty-five, she not eighteen—they
forgot the world, and only remembered that they could be
happy."
" But, since they loved," said Helene, " why did they not
marry ?"
" Union was impossible, on account of the distance which
separated them. Do you not know that your father is of high
station ?"
" Alas ! yes," said Helene, " I know it."
" During a year," continued he, " their happiness surpassed
their hopes; but at the end of that time you came into the
world, and then "
"Well?" asked the young girl, timidly.
"Your birth cost your mother's life."
Helene sobbed.
" Yes," continued the unknown, in a voice full of emotion,
" yes, H£lbne, weep for your mother ; she was a noble woman,
of whom, through his griefs, his pleasures, even his follies—
your father retains a tender recollection; he transferred to
you all his love for her."
" And yet," said Helene, " he consented to remove me
from him, and has never again seen me."
" Helene, on this point pardon your father, for it was not
his fault. You were born in 1703, at the most austere
period of Louis XIV. 's reign; your father was already out
of favour with the king, or rather with Madame de Main-
tenon ; and for your sake, as much or more than for his, he
sent you into Bretagne, confiding you to Mother Ursula,
superior of the convent where you were brought up. At
length, Louis XIV. being dead, and everything having
changed through all France, it is decided to bring you nearei
to him. During the journey, however, you must have seen
that his care was over you, and when he knew that you were
at Rambouillet, he could not wait till to-morrow—he is come
to you here, Helene."
" Oh, mon Dieu !" cried Helene, " is this true ?"
" And in seeing, or rather in listening to you, he thinks
he hears your mother—the same accent in the voice.
Helene, Helene, that you may be happier than she was is
his heartfelt prayer !"
THE VISIT.
61
u Oh, heavens!" cried Helene, " this emotion, your
trembling hand. Monsieur, you said my father is come to
meet me."
" Yes."
" Here at Rambouillet ?"
"Yes."
"You say he is happy to see me again?"
" Oh yes, very happy !"
" But this happiness was not enough, is it not so r He
wished to speak to me, to tell me himself the story of my
life—that I may thank him for his love—that I may fall at
his feet, that I may ask his blessing. Oh !" cried Helene,
kneeling, " oh, I am at your feet; bless me, father !"
" Helene, my child, my daughter !" cried the unknown,
" not at my feet, but in my arms !"
" My father, my father !" was Helene's only reply.
"And yet," continued he, " I came with a different inten-
tion, prepared to deny all, to remain a stranger to you; but
having you so near me, pressing your hand, hearing your
voice, I had not the strength; but do not make me repent
my weakness, and let secrecy "
" I swear by my mother's grave," .cried Helene.
" That is all I desire," cried the unknown. " Now listen,
for I must leave you."
" What already !"
" It must be so."
" Speak, then, my father. I am ready to obey you."
" To-morrow you leave for Paris ; there is a house there
destined for you. Madame Desroches will take you there,
and at the very first moment that I can do so, I will come
there to see you."
" Soon, I hope, for do not forget that I am alone in the
world."
" As soon as possible f and pressing his lips to Helene's
forehead, the unknown imprinted on it one of those kisses
as sweet to the heart'of a father, as a kiss of love to the
heart of a lover.
Ten minutes later Madame Desroches entered with a
light. Helene was on her knees praying; without rising,
she signed to Madame Desroches to place the light on the
chimney-piece, which that lady did, and then retired.
62
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
Helene, after praying for some time, rose, and looked
around her as though for some evidence that the whole was
not a dream; her own emotion, however, assured her that it
was really a great event in her life which had taken place;
Then the thought of Gaston rose to her mind; this father
whom she had so dreaded to see—this father, who himself
had loved so ardently and suffered so deeply, would not do
violence to her love; besides, Gaston was a scion of an
ancient house, and beyond all this, she loved him, so that
she would die if she were separated from him, and her
father would not wish her death.
The obstacles on Gaston's side could be but the right, and
would doubtless be easily overcome, and Helene fell asleep
to dream of a happy and smiling future.
Gaston, on his part, set at liberty with many apologies
from those who pretended to have mistaken him for another
person, went back to fetch his coat and cloak, which he
was overjoyed to find where he had left them; he anxiously
opened his pocket-book—it was as he had left it, and for
greater safety he now burnt the address of La Jonquiere.
He gave his orders for the next day to Owen and retired.
Meanwhile, two carriages rolled away from the door of
the Tigre-Royal; in the first were two gentlemen in travel-
ling costume, preceded and followed by outriders.
In the second was a single traveller, wrapped in a large
cloak; this carriage followed close behind the other as far
as the Barriere de l'Etoile, where they separated, and while
the first stopped at the Palais Royal, the other drew up at
the Rue de Valois.
DUBOIS' POLICE.
CHAPTER X.
in which dubois proves that his police was better
organized at an expense of 300,000 francs than
the general police for three millions.
Whatever might have been the fatigues of the preceding
night, the Due d'Orleans still gave his mornings to business.
He generally began to work with Dubois before he was
dressed; then came a short and select levee, followed again
by audiences, which kept him till eleven or twelve o'clock;
then the chiefs of the councils (La Valliere and Le Blanc)
came to give an account of their espionage, then Torcy, to
bring any important letters which he had abstracted. At
half-past two the regent had his chocolate, which he always
took while laughing and chatting. This lasted half-an-hour,
then came the audience hour for ladies, after that he went to
the Duchesse d'Orleans, then to the young king, whom he
visited every day, and to whom he always displayed the
greatest reverence and respect.
Once a week he received foreign ministers, and on Sun-
days heard mass in his private chapel.
At six, on council days, at five on others, all business was
over; then the regent would go to the opera, or to Madame
de Berry, with whom, however, he had quarrelled now, on
account of her marriage with Riom. Then came those
famous suppers.
They were composed of from ten to fifteen persons, and
the regent's presence amongst them sometimes added to
their license and freedom, but never restrained it.
At these suppers, kings, ministers, chancellors, ladies of
the court, were all passed in review, discussed, abused ;
everything might be said, everything told, everything done;
64
the Regents da vghter.
provided offly that it were wittily said, told, or done.
When all the guests had arrived, the doors were closed
and barred, so that it was impossible to reach the regent
until the following morning, however urgent might be the
necessity.
Dubois was seldom of the number, his bad health forbade
it; and this was the time chosen to pick him to pieces, at
which the regent would laugh as heartily as any one. Dubois
knew that he often furnished the amusement of these suppers,
but he also knew that by the morning the regent invariably
forgot what had been said the night before, and so he cared
little about it.
Dubois, however, watched while the regent supped or
slept, and seemed indefatigable; he appeared to have the
gift of ubiquity.
When he returned from Rambouillet, he called Maitre
Tapin, who had returned on horseback, and talked with him
for an hour, after which he slept for four or five, then, rising,
he presented himself at the door of his royal highness ; the
regent was still asleep.
Dubois approached the bed and contemplated him with
a smile which at once resembled that of an ape and a
demon.
At length he decided to wake him.
" Hola, monseigneur, wake up !" he cried.
The duke opened his eyes, and seeing Dubois, he turned
his face to the wall, saying,—
" Ah ! is that you, abbe; go to the devil !"
" Monseigneur, I have just been there, but he was too
busy to receive me, and sent me to you."
" Leave me alone ; I am tired."
" I dare say, the night was stormy."
"What do you mean?" asked the duke, turning half
round.
" I mean that the way you spent the night does not suit a
man who makes appointments for seven in the morning."
" Did I appoint you for seven in the morning ?"
"Yes, yesterday morning, before you went to St. G$r-
main's."
" It is true," said the regent.
DUBOIS' POLICE.
65
" Monseigneur did not know that the night would be so
fatiguing."
" Fatiguing ! I left table at seven."
"And afterwards ?"
" Well! what .afterwards ?"
" Are you satisfied, monseigneur, and was the young per-
son worth the journey ?"
" What journey ?"
"The journey you took after you left the table at
seven."
" One would think, to hear you, that from St. Germain's
here, was a long distance."
" No, monseigneur is right; it is but a few steps, but there
is a method of prolonging the distance."
" What is that ?"
" Going round by Rambouillet."
"You are dreaming, abbe."
" Possibly, monseigneur. I will tell you my dream ; it will
at least prove to your highness that even in my dreams I
do not forget you."
" Some new nonsense."
'Not at all. I dreamed that monseigneur started the
stag at Le Treillage, and that the animal, after some battling,
worthy of a stag of high birth, was taken at Chambourcy."
" So far, your dream resembles the truth; continue,
abbe."
" After which, monseigneur returned to St. Germain's, sat
down to table at half-past five, and ordered that the carriage
without arms should be prepared and harnessed, with four
horses, at half-past seven."
" Not bad, abbe, not bad; go on."
" At half-past seven, monseigneur dismissed every one
except Lafare, with whom he entered the carriage. Am I
right?"
" Go on; go on."
" The carriage went towards Rambouillet, and arrived
there at a quarter to ten, but at the entrance of the town it
stopped, Lafare went on in the carriage to the Tigre Royal,
monseigneur following as an outrider."
"Here your dream becomes confused, abbe."
S
66
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" No, no, not at all."
" Continue, then."
"Well, while Lafare pretended to eat a bad supper,
which was served by waiters who called him Excellency,
monseigneur gave his horse to a page and went to a little
pavilion."
" Demon, where were you hidden ?"
" I, monseigneur, have not left the Palais Royal, where I
slept like a dormouse, and the proof is, that I am telling you
my dream."
" And what was there in the pavilion ?".
" First, at the door, a horrible duenna, tall, thin, dry, and
yellow."
" Dubois, I will recommend you to Desroches, and the
first time she sees you, she will tear your eyes out."
"Then inside, mon Dieu ! inside."
"You could not see that, even in a dream, abbe."
" Monseigneur, you may take away the 300,000 francs
which you allow me for my secret police, if—by their aid—I
did not see into the interior."
" Well, what did you see ?"
" Ma foi, monseigneur, a charming little Bretonne, sixteen
or seventeen years old, beautiful, coming direct from the
Augustine convent at Clisson, accompanied to Rambouillet
by one of the sisters, whose troublesome presence was soon
dispensed with, was it not ?"
" Dubois, I have often thought you were the devil, who
has taken the form of an abbd to ruin meA
"To save you, monseigneur, to save you."
"To save me; I do not believe it."
" Well," said Dubois, " are you pleased with her ?"
" Enchanted, Dubois ; she is charming."
" Well, you have brought her from so far, that if she were
not, you would be quite cheated."
The regent frowned, but, reflecting that probably Dubois
did not know the rest, the frown changed to a smile.
"Dubois," said he, "certainly, you are a great man."
" Ah, monseigneur, no one but you doubts it, and yet you
disgrace me "
" Disgrace you 1"
DUBOIS' POLICE.
67
"Yes, you hide your loves from me."
" Come, do not be vexed, Dubois."
"There is reason, however, you must confess, mon-
seigneur."
" Why ?"^
"Why did you not tell me you wanted a Bretonne.
Could not I have sent for one ?"
" Yes."
"Yes, of course I could."
"As good?"
" Yes, and better."
"You think you have found a treasure, perhaps?"
" Hola, hola !"
" Well, when you know what she is, and to what you expose
yourself."
" Do not jest, abbe, I beg."
"Ah ! monseigneur, you distress me."
" What do you mean."
" That you are taken by a glance, a single night fasci-
nates you, and there is no one to compare to the new-comer.
Is she then very pretty ?"
" Charming."
" And discreet: virtue itself, I suppose."
"You are right."
"Well, I tell you, monseigneur, you are lost."
<C J »
" Yes ; your Bretonne is a jade."
"Silence, abbe."
" Why silence ?"
" I forbid you to say another word."
" Monseigneur, you, too, have had a dream—let me ex-
plain it."
"Monsieur Joseph, I will send you to the Bastille."
" As you please, monseigneur, but still you must know
that this girl "
"Is my daughter, abbe."
Dubois drew back stupefied.
" Your daughter ; and who is her mother ?"
" An honest woman, who had the honour of dying with-
out knowing you."
5—2
68
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" And the child ?"
" The child has been concealed, that she might not be
sullied by the looks of such creatures as you "
Dubois bowed, and retired, respectfully.
The regent looked triumphant.
" Ah !" said Dubois, who had not quite closed the door,
" I thought this plot would bring me my archbishop's mitre
—if I am careful, it will bring me my cardinal's hat."
KAMBOUILLET A GAIN.
69
CHAPTER XI.
rambouillet again.
At the appointed hour Gaston presented himself at Helene's
domicile, but Madame Desroches made some difficulty about
admitting him; Helene, however, said firmly that she was
quite at liberty to judge for herself what was right, and that
she was quite determined to see M. de Livry, who had come
to take leave of her. It will be remembered that this was
the name which Gaston had assumed during the journey,
and which he intended to retain, except when with those
connected with his mission to Paris.
Madame Desroches went to her room somewhat out of
humour, and even attempted to overhear the conversation,
but Helene bolted the outer door.
" Ah, Gaston," said she, " I have been expecting you. I
did not sleep last night."
" Nor I, Helene; but I must admire all this splendour."
Helene smiled.
"And your head-dress—how beautiful you are, like
this."
"You do not appear much pleased."
Gaston made no reply, but continued his investigations.
" These rich hangings, these costly pictures, all prove that
your protectors are opulent, Helene."
" I believe so," said Helene, smiling, " yet I am told that
these hangings, and this gilding, which you admire, are old
and unfashionable, and must be replaced by new."
"Ah, Helene, you will become a great lady," said Gaston,
sighing; "already I am kept waiting for an audience."
" My dear Gaston, did you not wait for hours in your
little boat on the lake ?"
7o
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" You were then in the convent. I waited the abbess's
pleasure."
" That title is sacred, is it not?"
"Yes."
" It gives security, imposes respect and obedience."
« Doubtless."
" Well, judge of my delight. Here I find the same pro-
tection, the same love, only more powerful, rrtore lasting."
" What !" exclaimed Gaston, surprised.
" I find "
" Speak, in heaven's name."
"Gaston, I have found a father."
" A father—ah, my dear Helene, -I share your joy; what
happiness ! a father to watch over my Helene, my wife!"
"To watch from afar."
" Is he separated from you?"
"Alas, it seems the world separates us."
" Is it a secret ?"
" A secret even to me, or you may be sure you should
know all. I have no secrets from you, Gaston."
" A misfortune of birth—a prescription in your family—
some temporary obstacle ?"
" I do not know."
" Decidedly, it is a secret; but," sai'd he, smiling, " I per-
mit you to be discreet with me, if your father ordered it.
However, may I ask some more questions ?"
" Oh, yes."
"Are you pleased? Is your father one you can be proudof ?"
" I think so, his heart seems noble and good. His voice
is sweet and melodious."
" His voice ! but is he like you ?"
"I do not know. I have not seen him."
" Not seen him !"
" No, it was dark."
"Your father did not wish to see his daughter; and you
so beautiful; oh, what indifference!"
"No, Gaston, he is not indifferent; he knows me well; he
has my portrait—that portrait which made you so jealous
last spring."
"But I do not understand this."
RAMBOUILLET AGAIN.
7i
" It was dark, I tell you."
" In that case one might light these girandoles," said Gaston.
" That is well, when one wishes to be seen ; but when one
has reasons for concealment "
" What!" interrupted Gaston; " what reason can a father
have for hiding from his own daughter ?"
" Excellent reasons, I believe, and you should understand
them better than I can."
" Oh, Helene !" said Gaston, " with what terrible ideas you
fill my mind."
" You alarm me, Gaston !"
" Tell me—what did your father speak of!"
" Of his deep love for me."
Gaston started.
" He swore to me that in future I should be happy; that
there should be no more uncertainty as to my fate, for that
he would despise all those considerations which had induced
him as yet to disown me as a daughter."
" Words, words; but what proof did he give you ? Pardon
me these questions, Helene. I dread misfortune. I wish
that for a time your angel's innocence could give place to the
sharpness and infernal sagacity of a fiend; you would then
understand me. I should not need to subject you to this
interrogatory, which now is so necessary."
" I do not understand your question, Gaston. I do not
know how to reply to you."
" Did he show you much affection ?"
" Yes."
" But, in the darkness, when he wished to speak to you ?"
" He took my hand, and his trembled the most."
Gaston clenched his hands with rage.
" He embraced you paternally, did he not ?"
"He gave me a single kiss on the forehead, which I
received on my knees."
" Helene !" he cried, " my fears were not groundless ; you
are betrayed—you are the victim of a snare. Helene, this
man who conceals himself, who fears the light, who calls you
his child, is not your father."
" Gaston, you distress me."
" Helene, angels might envy your innocence; but on earth
72
THE REGENT'S DA UGHTER.
all is abused, even angels are insulted, profaned, by men.
This man, whom I will know, whom I will seize and force to
have confidence in your love and honour, shall tell me—if he
be not the vilest of beings—whether I am to call him father,
or kill him as a wretch !"
" Gaston, your brain is wandering; what can lead you to
suspect such treachery ? And, since you arouse my sus-
picions, since you hold a light over those ignoble labyrinths
of the human heart which I refused to contemplate, I will
speak to you with the same freedom. Was I not in this
man's power ? Is not this house his ? Are not the people
by whom I am surrounded devoted to his orders ? Gaston
if you love me, you will ask my pardon for what you have
thought and said of my father."
Gaston was in despair.
" Do not destroy one of the purest and holiest joys I
have ever tasted. Do not poison the happiness of a life
which I have often wept to think was solitary and aban-
doned, without other affection than that of which heaven
forbids us to be lavish. Let my filial ties compensate for
the remorse which I sometimes feel for loving you almost
to idolatry.".
" Helene, forgive me," cried Gaston. " Yes, you are
right; I sully your pure joys by my contact, and it may be
the noble affection of your father, but in heaven's name,
Helene, give some heed to the fears of my experience and
my love. Criminal passions often speculate on innocent
credulity. The argument you use is weak. To show at
once a guilty love would be unlike a skilful corrupter; but
to win you by a novel luxury pleasing to your age, to
accustom you gradually to new impressions, to win you at
last by persuasion, is a sweeter victory than that of violence.
Helene, listen to my prudence of five and twenty years—I
say my prudence, for it is my love that speaks, that love
which you should see so humble, so devoted, so ready to
accept a father whom I knew to be really your parent."
Helene made no answer.
" I implore you," continued Gaston, " not to take any
determination now, but to watch everything around you.
Suspect the perfumes which are given you, the wine which
RAMBOUJLLET AGAIN.
73
you are offered—everything, Helene. Watch over yourself,
you are my happiness, my honour, my life."
" My friend, I will obey you; this will not keep me from
loving my father."
" Adore him, Helene, if I am wrong."
" You are a noble friend, Gaston. We are agreed then ?"
"At the slightest suspicion write to me."
"Write ! You leave me then ?"
" I must go to Paris on business I shall be at the hotel
Muids. d'Amour, Rue des Bourdonnais. Write down this
address, and do not show it to any one."
" Why so many precautions ?"
Gaston hesitated.
"Because, if your devoted protector were known, his
plans for aiding you might be frustrated in case of bad
intentions."
"You are somewhat mysterious, Gaston, i have a father
who conceals himself, and a lover—this word I can hardly
speak—who is going to do the same."
" But my intentions, you know," said Gaston, attempting
to force a laugh.
"Ah, Madame Desroches is coming back. She thinks
our interview too long. I am as much under tutelage as at
the convent."
Gaston imprinted a kiss on the hand Helene held out to
him. As Madame Desroches appeared, Helene made a
formal curtsey, which Gaston returned by an equally formal
bow.
Gaston left for Paris. Owen awaited him with impatience,
and this time could not reproach his master with being slow,
for in three hours they were in Paris.
74
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XII.
captain la jonquiere.
There was, as the reader has learned, in the Rue des Bour-
donnais, an hotel where one could lodge, cat, and drink.
In his nocturnal interview with Dubois, Tapin had received
the famous name of La Jonquiere, and had transmitted it
to L'Eveille, who had passed it to all the chiefs of police,
who had begun to search for the suspected officer in all the
equivocal houses in Paris. The conspiracy of Ccllamare,
which we have related in an history of the Chevalier d'Har-
mental, had taught them that everywhere conspirators were
to be found.
It was, however, by luck or by cleverness, Maitre Tapin
himself who, in the Rue des Bourdonnais and in the hotel
Muids d'Amour, found La Jonquiere, who was then a night-
mare to Dubois.
The landlord took Tapin to be an old attorney's clerk,
and replied to his questions politely, that " the Captain la
Jonquiere was in the hotel, but was asleep."
Tapin asked no more. La Jonquiere was asleep, therefore
he was in bed, for it was only six in the morning; if he were
in bed, then he must be stopping at the inn.
Tapin went back to the Palais Royal, and found Dubois,
who had just left the regent. A number of false La Jon-
quieres had already been discovered by his emissaries. One
was a smuggler, called Captain la Jonciere, whom L'Eveille
had found and arrested. A second was La Jonquille, ser-
jeant in the French Guards, and many others.
" Well," said Dubois, when Tapin had made his report,
"you have found the real Captain la Jonquiere, then ?"
CAPTAIN-LA JONQUIERE.
75
"Yes, monseigneur."
" Is he called La Jonquiere ?"
" Yes, monseigneur."
"L-a, la; J-o-n, jon; q-u-i-e-r-e, quiere ?" continued he.
spelling the word.
*" La Jonquiere," repeated Tapin.
"A captain."
"Yes, monseigneur."
" What is he doing ?"
" Waiting and drinking."
" That must be he," said Dubois ; " a ad does he pay ?"
He evidently attached great importance to the question.
" Very well, monsieur."
" A la bonne heure, Tapin. You have some sense."
" Monseigneur," said Tapin, modestly, " you flatter me;
it is quite clear, if he had not paid he could not have been a
dangerous man."
Dubois gave him ten louis as a reward, gave him some
further orders, and set out at once to go to the Rue des
Bourdonnais.
Let us say a word regarding the interior of the hotel.
It was partly hotel, partly public house; the dwelling rooms
were on the first-floor, and the tavern rooms on the ground-
floor.
The principal of these, the common room, had four oak
tables, and a quantity of red and white curtains; some
benches along the walls, some glasses on a sideboard, some
handsomely framed pictures, all blackened and rendered
nauseous by smoke, completed the tout ensemble of this
room, in which sat a fat man, with a red face, thirty-five or
forty years old, and a little pale girl of twelve or fourteen.
This was the landlord and his only daughter and heiress.
A servant was cooking a ragout in the kitchen.
As the clock struck one, a French guard entered, and
stopping at the threshold, murmured, " Rue des Bourdonnais,
Muids d'Amour, in the common room, to sit at the table on
the left, and wait."
Then, in accordance with this, the worthy defender of his
country, whistling a tune and twirling his moustache, seated
himself at the place indicated.
76
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
Scarcely had he had time to seat himself and strike his
fist on the table, which, in the language of all taverns, means
" Some wine," than a second guard, dressed exactly like the
first, appeared at the door, murmured some words, and, after
a little hesitation, seated himself by the other.
The two soldiers looked at each other, and both ex-
claimed :
" Ah !" which in all languages means surprise.
" It is you, Grippart," said one.
"It is you, L'Eulevant," said the other.
" What are you doing in this tavern ?"
" And you ?"
" I do not know."
" Nor I."
"You come here, then?"
" Under orders."
" That is my case."
" And you are waiting ?"
" For a man who is coming."
"With a watchword?"
" And on this watchword ?"
"I am to obey as though it were Tapin himself."
"Just so; and, in the mean time, I have a pistole for
drink."
" I have a pistole also, but I was not told to drink."
" And it being doubtful ?"
" In doubt, as the sage says, I do not abstain."
" In that case, let us drink."
And he raised his hand to call the landlord, but it was not
necessary, for he was standing near, expecting orders.
" Some wine," cried the two guards.
" Orleans," added one ; " I like that."
The landlord brought an enclosed bottle.
The two drinkers filled their glasses, emptied them, and
then placed them on the table, each with a different grimace,
but both intended to express the same opinion.
When the host was gone, one said to the other :
" You know more of this than you have told me ?"
"I know it concerns a certain captain," answered the
other,
CAPTAIN LA J ON QUI ERE.
71
" Yes ; just so. But I suppose we shall have aid to arrest
him ?"
" Doubtless; two to one is not enough."
"You forget the man with the watchword."
" Ah ! I think I hear something."
"Yes; some one coming downstairs."
"Chut !"
," Silence!"
And the soldiers, much more occupied by their commission
than if they had really been soldiers, kept an eye turned
towards the staircase while they drank.
They were not deceived; the step on the staircase ap-
proached, and they saw, first, some legs, then a body, then a
head descending The legs were covered with fine silk stock-
ings and white cashmere breeches, the body with a tight blue
coat, and the head with a three-cornered hat, jauntily placed
over one ear; his epaulettes left no doubt that he held the
rank of captain.
This man, who was, in fact, Captain la Jonquiere, was
about five feet five, rather fat, and had a sagacious air; one
would almost have supposed that he suspected spies in the
two soldiers, for he turned his back to them at once, and
entered into conversation with his host in a somewhat assumed
tone and manner.
" In truth," said he, " I should have dined here, and this
delicious perfume of stewed kidneys would have tempted me,
but some bons vivants are expecting me at the ' Galoubet de
Paphos.' Perhaps a young man may come here this morn-
ing, but I could not wait any longer. Should he ask for a
hundred pistoles, say that I shall be back in an hour, if he
will wait."
" Very well, captain," said the host.
" Some wine," said the guard.
" Ah," said the captain, throwing an apparently careless
glance at the drinkers, " here are some soldiers who have but
little respect for an epaulette." Then, turning to the host,—
" Serve these gentlemen ; you see they are in a hurry."
" Ah," said one, rising, " as soon as monsieur will permit."
" Certainly I permit it," said La Jonquiere; and he stepped
towards the door.
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" But captain," said the host, stopping him, " you have
not told me the name of the gentleman you expect."
La Jonquibre hesitated. After a moment:
" Monsieur Gaston de Chanlay," he replied.
" Gaston de Chanlay," repeated the host. " I hope I
shall remember the name. Gaston—Gascon. Ah, I shall
remember Gascon. Chanlay; ah, I shall think of Chan-
delle."
" That is it," repeated La Jonquiere, gravely; " Gascon
de Chandelle."
And he went out, but not without looking round the cor-
ners of the street and the angles of the houses.
He had not taken a hundred steps in the Rue St. Honore
before Dubois presented himself at the door. He had passed
La Jonquiere, but, never having seen him, could not recog-
nise him.
He presented himself boldly, dressed as a shopkeeper.
MONSIEUR MOUTONNET, DRAPER.
CHAPTER XIII.
monsieur moutonnet, draper at st. germain-en-la ye.
Dubois at once accosted the host.
" Monsieur," said he, timidly, " does Captain la Jonquiere
lodge here ? I wish to speak to him."
" You wish to speak to him ?" said the host, examining the
new-comer from head to foot.
" If possible," said Dubois.
" Are you sure that is the person you want ?" asked the
host, who did not think this was the man La Jonquiere
expected.
" I think so," said Dubois modestly.
" A short, fat man ?"
" Yes."
" Drinks his brandy neat ?"
"That is the man."
" Always ready with his cane if he is not attended to
directly!"
"Ah, that is Captain la Jonquiere !"
" You know him, then ?"
" Not in the least," said Dubois.
" True, for you must have met him at the door."
" Diable ! Is he out ?" said Dubois, with a start of ill-
humour badly repressed. " Thank you," and he called up
an amiable smile.
" He has not been gone five minutes."
" But he is coming back ?"
" In an hour."
" May I wait for him, monsieur ?"
" Certainly, if you take something."
8o
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" Give me some brandy-cherries," said Dubois. " I nevet
drink wine except with meals."
The two guards exchanged a contemptuous smile.
The host hastened to bring the cherries.
" Ah !" said Dubois ; " only five ! At St. Germain-en-
Laye they give six."
" Possibly, monsieur; for at St. Germain-en-Laye they
have no excise to pay."
"Yes, I forgot that," and he began to eat a cherry,
which he could not, however, accomplish without a
grimace.
" Where does the captain lodge ?" asked Dubois.
" There is the door of his room; he preferred the ground-
floor."
"Yes," murmured Dubois; "the windows look into the
public road." •
"And there is a door opening into the Rue des Deux-
Boules."
" Oh, how convenient! And does not the noise annoy
him ?"
" There is another room above: sometimes he sleeps in
one, sometimes in the other."
" Like Denis the tyrant," said Dubois, who could not re-
frain from Latin or historical quotations.
" What ?" said mine host,
Dubois bit his lip. At this moment one of the soldiers
called for wine, and the host darted off to wait upon him.
Dubois turned to the two guards.
"Thank you," said he.
" What is it, bourgeois ?" asked they.
" France and the regent," replied Dubois.
" The watchword !" cried both, rising.
" Enter this room," said Dubois, showing La Jonquiere's
room. " Open the door into the Rue des Deux-Boules, and
hide behind a curtain, under a table, in a closet, wherever
you can. If, when I come in, I can see so much as an ear,
you will have no pay for six months."
The two men emptied their glasses, and entered the room,
while Dubois, who saw they had forgotten to pay, put a
piece of twelve sous on the table, then, opening the window,
MONSIEUR MO U TONNE T, ERA EE R. 81
and calling to the driver of a hackney carriage standing
before the door—
" L'Eveille," said he, " bring the carriage to the little door
in the Rue des Deux-Boules, and tell Tapin to come up
when I knock on the windows with my fingers; he has his
orders; be off."
The host reappeared.
" Hola !" cried he, " where are my men ?"
"A sergeant came and called them away."
" But they have not paid."
"Yes, they left a twelve-sou piece on the table."
" Diable ! twelve sous; and my wine is eight sous the
bottle."
" Ah !" said Dubois, " no doubt they thought that as they
were soldiers you would make a reduction."
"At any rate," said the host, consoling himself, "it is
not all lost; and in our trade one must expect this kind of
thing."
"You have nothing of the sort to fear with Captain la
Jonquiere ?"
" Oh, no, he is the best of lodgers; he pays without
a word, and ready money. True, he never likes any-
thing."
" Oh, that may be his manner," said Dubois.
" Exactly."
" What you tell me of his prompt payment pleases me."
" Have you come to ask for money ? He said he expected
some one to whom he owed a hundred pistoles."
" No; on the contrary, I owe him fifty louis."
"Fifty louis ! peste !" said the host, "what a pretty sum !
Perhaps I was mistaken, and he said receive, not pay. Are
you the Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay ?"
" Does he expect the Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay?" said
Dubois, with a joy he could not conceal.
" He told me so," said the host. " Is that you ?"
"No ; I am not noble. I am called Moutonnet."
" Nobility is nothing," said the host. " One may be called
Moutonnet and be an honest man."
"Yes ; Moutonnet, draper at St. Germain-en-Laye."
" And you have fifty louis for the captain ?"
6
82
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
"Yes. In turning over some old accounts of my father's,
I find he owed fifty louis to Captain la Jonquiere's father,
and I have had no peace till, instead of the father, who is
dead, I had found the son."
" Do you know there are not many debtors like you ?"
" The Moutonnets are all the same, from father to son.
When we are owed anything we are pitiless. Listen. There
is an honest fellow who owed Moutonnet and Son one
hundred and sixty francs; my grandfather put him in prison,
and there he has been for the three generations, and he has
just died there. I calculated that, during the thirty years he
was there, he cost us twelve thousand francs; but we main-
tained the principle. But I beg your pardon for keeping
you with all this nonsense ; and here is a new customer for
you."
"Ah!" said the host, "it is Captain la Jonquiere
himself. Captain," continued he, " some one is waiting for
you."
The captain entered suspiciously—he had seen some
strange, and, he thought, sinister faces about.
Dubois saluted him politely.
La Jonquiere asked the host if the friend he had expected
had arrived.
"No one but monsieur. However, you lose nothing by
the exchange, since one was to fetch away money, and the
other brings it."
La Jonquibre, surprised, turned to Dubois, who repeated
the same story he had told to the host, and with such sue-
cess that La Jonquibre, calling for wine, asked Dubois to
follow him into his room.
Dubois approached the window, and quietly tapped on it
with his fingers.
" But shall I not be in the way in your room ?" asked
Dubois.
" Not at all, not at all—the view is pleasant—as we drink
we can look out and see the passers-by : and there are some
pretty women in the Rue des Bourdonnais."
They entered the room. Dubois made a sign to Tapin,
who appeared in the first room, followed by two men, then
shut the door behind him.
MONSIEUR MO U TONNE T, DRAPER.
83
Tapin's two followers went to the window of the common
room, and drew the curtains, while Tapin placed himself
behind the door of Jonquibre's room, so as to be hidden by
it when it opened. The host now returned from La Jon-
quiere's room, to write down the receipt for the money which
La Jonquiere had just paid him for the wine, when Tapin
threw a handkerchief over his mouth, and carried him off like
a feather to a second carriage standing at the door. One of
the men seized the little girl who was cooking eggs, the other
carried off the servant, and soon they were all on the way to
St. Lazare, drawn by two such good horses that it was evi-.
dently not a real hired car.
Tapin remained behind, and taking from a closet a calico
apron and waistcoat, signed to a loiterer who was looking in
at the window, and who quickly transformed himself into a
publican.
At this moment a violent noise was heard in the captain's
room, as of a table thrown down with bottles and glasses;
then oaths, then the clinking of a sword, then silence.
Presently a carriage was heard rolling away up the Rue
de Deux Boules. Tapin looked joyous.
" Bravo," said he, " that is done."
" It was time, masters," said the pretended publican, " for
here is a customer."
84
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XIV.
trust to signs of gratitude.
Tapin at first thought that it was the Chevalier de Chanlay,
but it was only a woman who wanted a pint of wine.
" What has happened to poor M. Bourguignon ?" asked
she. " He has just been taken away in a coach."
" Alas !" said Tapin, " we vrere far from expecting it. He
was standing there talking, and was suddenly seized with
apoplexy."
" Gracious heavens !"
" We are all mortal," said Tapin, throwing up his eyes.
" But why did they take the little girl ?"
"To attend to her father—it is her duty."
" But the servant ?"
"To cook for them."
"Ah, I could not understand it all, so I came to buy
a pint of wine, though I did not want it, that I might find"
out."
" Well, now you know/
" Yes, but who are you ?'
" I am Champagne, Bourguignon's cousin. I arrived by
chance this morning; I brought him news of his family,
and the sudden joy overcame him; ask Grabigeon," con-
tinued Tapin, showing his assistant, who was finishing an
omelet commenced by the landlord's daughter.
" Oh, yes, everything passed exactly as M. Champagne
says," replied Grabigeon, wiping away a tear with the handle
of his spoon.
" Poor M. Bourguignon ! then you think that we should
pray for him ?"
TRUST TO SIGNS OF GRATITUDE
85
"There is never any harm in praying," said Tapin, sen-
tentiously.
" Ah, stop a minute, give me good measure."
Bourguignon would have groaned in spirit, could he have
seen the wine that Tapin gave for her two sous.
"Well," said she, "I will go and tell the neighbours, who
are very anxious, and I promise you my custom, M. Cham-
pagne; indeed, if M. Bourguignon were not your cousin,
I would tell you what I think."
" Oh, tell me, never mind that."
" I perceive that he cheated me shamefully. What you
have given me for two sous, he would hardly have given mc
for four; but if there is no justice here there is in heaven,
and it is very providential that you are to continue his
business."
" I believe so," said Tapin, in a half voice, " particularly for
his customers."
And he dismissed the woman just as the door opened, and
a young man entered, dressed in a blue cloak.
" Is this the hotel Le Muids d'Amour ?" asked he.
"Yes, monsieur,"
" Does Captain la Jonquiere lodge here ?"
" Yes, monsieur."
" Is he within ?'"
" Yes, he has just returned."
" Tell him, if you please, that the Chevalier Gaston de
Chanlay is here."
Tapin offered the chevalier a chair, and went into La
J onquiere'Sj room.
Gaston shook the snow from his boots and cloak, and pro-
ceeded leisurely to examine the pictures on the wall, never
supposing that he had close to him three or four swords,
which, at a sign from the polite host, would leave their
sheaths to be plunged into his breast.
Tapin returned, saying, " Captain la Jonquiere waits for
M. de Chanlay."
Gaston proceeded to the room where sat a man whom
the host pointed out as Captain la Jonquiere, and—without
being much of a physiognomist—he perceived at once that
he was no bully.
86
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
Little, dry, grey-eyed, uneasy in his uniform, such ap-
peared the formidable captain whom Gaston had been recom-
mended to treat with so much consideration.
" This man is ugly, and looks like a sexton," thought
Gaston; then, as the stranger advanced towards him—
" Have I the honour of speaking to Captain la Jonquiere ?''
asked Gaston.
" Himself," said Dubois \ " and are you M. le Chevalier
Gaston de Chanlay?"
" I am, monsieur." •
" Have you the sign of recognition ?" asked the false La
Jonquiere.
" Here is the half of the gold piece."
" And here the other," said Dubois.
They tried the two, which fitted exactly.
" And now," said Gaston, " the papers;" and he drew
from his pocket the strangely folded paper, on which was
written the name of La Jonquiere.
Dubois took from his pocket a similar paper, bearing
Gaston's name : they were precisely alike.
"Now," said Gaston, "the pocket-book."
They found that their pocket-books were precisely similar,
and both, though new, contained an almanack for the year
1700, nineteen years previous.
" And now, monsieur," said Gaston.
" Now we will talk of business : is not that your meaning,
chevalier ?"
" Exactly; are we safe ?"
"As though in a desert."
They seated themselves by a table, on which were a bottle
of sherry and two glasses.
Dubois filled one, and was about to fill the other, when
Gaston stopped him.
" Peste !" thought Dubois, " he is slender and sober, bad
signs; Caesar mistrusted thin people who did not drink, and
Brutus and Cassius were such."
" Captain," said Gaston, after a short silence, " when we
undertake, as now, an affair in which we risk our heads, I
think we should know each other, so that the past may vouch
for the future. Montlouis, Talhouet, Du Couedic, and Pont-
TRUST TO SIGNS OF GRATITUDE. 87
calec have told you my name and condition. I was brought
up by a brother, who had reasons for personal hatred to the
regent. This hatred I have imbibed; therefore, three years
ago, when the league was formed among the nobility in
Bretagne, I entered the conspiracy; now I have been chosen
to come to Paris to receive the instructions of Baron de
Yalef, who has arrived from Spain, to transmit them to the
Due d'Olivares, his Catholic Majesty's agent in Paris, and to
assure myself of his assent."
"And what is Captain la Jonquiere to do in all this?"
asked Dubois, as though he were doubting the chevalier's
identity.
" To present me to the Due d'Olivares. I arrived two
hours ago; since then I have seen M. de Yalef, and now I
come to you. Now you know my history."
Dubois listened, and, when Gaston had finished—
" As to me, chevalier," said he, throwing himself back
indolently in his chair, " I must own my history is some-
what longer and more adventurous; however, if you wish to
hear it, I obey,"
" I think it necessary, in our position, to know each other,"
said Gaston.
" Well," said Dubois, " as you know, I am called Captain
la Jonquiere; my father was, like myself, a soldier of fortune;
this is a trade at which one gains in general a good deal of
glory and very little money; my glorious father died, leaving
me, for sole inheritance, his rapier and his uniform; I girded
on the rapier, which was rather too long, and I wore the
uniform, which was rather too large. From that time," said
Dubois, calling the chevalier's attention to the looseness of
his coat, " from that time I contracted the habit of always
having plenty of room to move easily."
Gaston nodded, as though to express his approbation of
this habit.
" Thanks to my good looks I was received in the Royal
Italian, which was then recruiting in France. I held a dis-
tinguished post; when—the day before the battle of Mai-
plaquet—I had a slight quarrel with my sergeant about an
order which he gave me with the end of his cane raised
instead of lowered, as it should have been."
88
THE REGENT'S DA UGHTER.
" Pardon me," said Gaston, " but I cannot see what
difference that could make to the order he was giving."
" It made this difference, that in lowering his cane it
struck against my hat, which fell to the ground ; the result
was a duel, in which I passed my sabre through his body.
Now, as I certainly should have been shot if I had waited
to be arrested, I made off, and woke the next morning—
devil take me if I know how it happened—in Marlborough's
army."
" That is to say, you deserted," said Gaston, smiling.
" I had Coriolanus and the great Conde for examples," said
Dubois, " and this appeared to me to be sufficient to excuse
me in the eyes of posterity. I assisted then, I must tell
you, as we are to hide nothing from one another, at the
battle of Malplaquet; but instead of being on one side of
the brook, I was on the other, and instead of having the
village behind me, I faced it. I think this was a lucky
exchange for your humble servant; the Royal Italian left
eight hundred men on the field of battle, my company was
cut to pieces, and my own comrade and bed-fellow killed
by a cannon-ball. The glory with which my late regiment
covered itself so much delighted Marlborough, that he
made me an ensign on the field of battle. With such a
protector I ought to have done well, but his wife, Lady
Marlborough, whom Heaven confound, having been awkward
enough to spill a bowl of water over Queen Anne's dress,
this great event changed the face of things in Europe. In
the overthrow which resulted, I found myself without any
other protector than my own merit, and the enemies I had
gained thereby."
" And what did you do then ?" asked Gaston, some-
Avhat interested in the adventurous life of the pretended
captain.
" What could I do ? I was forced to enter the service of
his Catholic Majesty, who, to his honour be it said, graciously
acceded to my demand for a commission. In three years I
was a captain ; but, out of our pay of thirty reals a day, they
kept back twenty, telling us what an honour it was for us to
lend money to the King of Spain. As the security did not
appear good in my eyes, I asked leave of my colonel to quit
TRUST TO SIGNS OF GRATITUDE.
S9
the service and return tp my beautiful country, accompanied
by a recommendation, in order that the Malplaquet affair
might not be too much brought on the tapis. The colonel
referred me to the Prince de Cellamare, who, recognising in
me a natural disposition to obey, without discussion, any
orders given in a proper manner and accompanied by a cer-
tain music, employed me actively in the famous conspiracy
which bears his name, when, all at once, the whole affair blew
up, as you know, by the double denunciation of La Fillon
and a wretched writer called Buvat 3 but his highness, wisely
thinking that what is deferred is not lost, recommended me
to his successor, to whom, I hope, my services may be useful,
and whom I thank most heartily for procuring me the
acquaintance of so accomplished a cavalier as yourself.
Count on me then, chevalier, as your most humble and
obedient servant."
" I ask nothing of you, captain," replied Gaston, " but to
present me to the duke, the only person to whom my in-
structions permit me to speak openly, and to whom I am to
deliver the Baron de Valef's despatches. I beg, therefore,
that you will present me to his excellency."
" This very day, chevalier," said Dubois, who seemed to
have decided on his course of action 3 " in an hour if you
like, in ten minutes if necessary."
" As soon as possible."
" Listen," said Dubois 3 " I wras a little too quick when I
said you should see his excellency in an hour—in Paris one
is never sure 3 perhaps he does not know of your coming,
and I may not find him at home."
" I understand."
" Perhaps even I may be prevented from coming back to
fetch you."
"How so ?"
^ " Peste, chevalier 3 it is easy to see that this is your first
visit to Paris."
" What do you mean ?"
" I mean that in Paris there are three distinct bodies of
police, who all unite to torment those honest people who
only desire to substitute what is not for what is. First, the
regent's police, which is not much to be feared 3 secondly,
90
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
that of Messire Voyer d'Argenson—this has its days, when he
is in a bad humour, or has been ill received at the convent
of the Madeleine du Tresnel; thirdly, there is Dubois's
police ; ah ! that is a different thing. Dubois is a "
" A wretch," cried Gaston ; " I am well aware of that."
Dubois smiled his sinister smile.
" Well, to escape these three police ?" said Gaston.
" One must be prudent, chevalier."
" Instruct me, captain ; for you seem to know more about
it than I, who am a provincial."
" Firstly, we must not lodge in the same hotel."
" Diable !" said Gaston, who remembered the address given
to Helene ; " I had a great wish to remain here."
" I will be the one to turn out then, chevalier* Take one
of my rooms, this one, or the one above."
" I prefer this."
" You are right; on the ground floor, a window looking
into one street, a secret door to the other. You have a quick
eye; we shall make something of you."
" Let us return to our business."
" Right; where was I ?"
" You said you might not be able to come back and fetch
me."
" Yes, but in that case take care not to follow any one
without sufficient signs."
" By what sign shall I recognise any one as coming from
you ?"
" First, he must have a letter from me."
" I do not know your writing."
" True ; I will give you a specimen."
And Dubois wrote the following lines :
" Monsieur le Chevalier,
" Follow without fear the man who brings this note,
he is deputed by me to lead you to the house where the Due
d'Olivarks and Captain la Jonquiere await you."
" Stay," said he, giving him the note, "if any one comes
in my name, he will give you a similar letter."
" Is that enough ?"
Trust to signs op gratitude. 91
" One cannot be too careful; besides the letter, he will
show you the half-coin, and at the door of the house to which
he leads you, ask for the third sign."
" Which will be."
" The paper.'"'
" It is well," said Gaston, " with these precautions—the
devil is in it if we are mistaken. Now, what am I to do?"
"Wait; you will not go out to-day."
" No.''
" Well, remain quiet in this hotel, where you will want for
nothing. I will recommend you to the host."
"Thanks."
" My dear M, Champagne," said Dubois to Tapin, opening
the door, " the Chevalier de Chanlay takes my room ; attend
to him as you would to me."
Then, closing it—
" That fellow is worth his weight in gold, Tapin," said he
in a low voice, " do not lose sight of him for a moment; you
will answer for him with your head."
92
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER,
CHAPTER XV.
his excellency the duc d'orleans.
Dubois, on leaving the chevalier, contemplated the chance
which had again placed in his hands the future of the regent
and of France. In crossing the hall he recognised L'Eveille,
and signed to him to follow. It was L'Eveille who had
undertaken to get the real La Jonquiere out of the way.
Dubois became thoughtful: the easiest part of the affair was
done \ it now remained to persuade the regent to put himself
in a kind of affair which he held in the utmost horror—the
manoeuvring of intrigue.
Dubois began by asking where the regent was, and how
occupied ? The prince was in his studio, finishing an etching
commenced by Hubert, the chemist, who, at an adjoining
table, was occupied in embalming an ibis, by the Egyptian
method, which he professed to have recovered.
A secretary was reading some letters to the regent.
All at once, to the regent's astonishment—for this was his
sanctum—the door opened, and an usher announced Captain
la Jonquiere.
The regent turned.
" La Jonquiere ?" said he ; " who is this ?"
Hubert looked surprised that a stranger should be thus
unceremoniously intruded on their privacy.
As this moment a long-pointed head appeared at the open
door.
The regent did not, at first, recognise Dubois in his dis-
guise : but shortly, the pointed nose, which had not its match
in the kingdom, betrayed him.
Ills EXCELLENCY THE DUC HORLEANS. 93
A merry look took the place of the astonishment which the
regent's features had at first displayed.
" Ah, it is you, abbe !" said his highness, laughing, " and
what is the meaning of this disguise ?"
" It means that I have changed my skin, and from a fox
have turned into a lion ; and now Monsieur the Chemist and
Monsieur the Secretary, do me the favour to take your bird
and letters elsewhere."
" Why so ?" asked the regent.
"Because I have important business to speak of with
you."
" Go to the devil with your important business; it is too
late : come to-morrow."
" Monseigneur," said Dubois, " do not force me to remain
till to-morrow in this villainous disguise."
" Do what you please, but I have decided that the rest of
this day shall be given to pleasure."
"Well, I come to propose a disguise to you also."
" A disguise ! what do you mean, Dubois ?" asked the
regent, who thought it was probably one of his ordinary
masquerades.
" Ah, it makes your mouth water, Monsieur Alain."
" Speak ; what do you want to do ?"
" First send away your chemist and secretary."
"You still wish it?"
" Decidedly."
" Very well, then."
The regent signed to them to leave: they did so.
" And now," said he, " what is it ?"
" I want to present to you, monseigneur, a young man, a
very delightful fellow, just arrived from Bretagne, and strongly
recommended to me."
" His name ?"
" The Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay."
" De Chanlay!" said the regent, "the name is not unknown
to me."
'"Indeed."
"Yes, I think I have heard it formerly; out I do not
remember where or how. What does your protege come
to Paris for ?"
94
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Monseigneur, I shall leave him to tell you that him-
self."
"Tell it to me."
" Yes; that is to say, to the Due d'Olivares, whom you
arc about to personate. Ah, my prote'ge is a discreet con-
spirator, and I have had some trouble to get at the truth of
things. He was addressed to Paris, to a certain La Jon-
quibre, who was to present him to the Due d'Olivares. Do
you understand now ?"
"Not at all"
" Well, I have been Captain la Jonquiere, but I cannot be
both La Jonquiere and his excellency."
" So, you reserve that part "
"For you, monseigneur."
"Thank you. So you think that, under a false name, I
will get at the secrets "
"Of your enemies, monseigneur," interrupted Dubois.
" Pardicu ! what a dreadful crime, and how it would dis-
tress you, to change name and dress; you have never
before learned secrets by such means. But remember,
monseigneur, our many disguises, and after being called
M. Alain and Maitre Jean, you may well, I think, without
anything derogatory to your dignity, be called Le Due
d'Olivares."
" I ask no better than a disguise for amusement, but "
" But a disguise," continued Dubois, " to preserve the
peace of France, to prevent traitors from overthrowing the
kingdom, to prevent assassins from murdering you—this,
I suppose, is unworthy of you. I understand; ah, if it were
only in pursuit of some little ironmongress in the Pont Neuf,
or the pretty widow of the Rue Saint Augustine, it might be
worth your while."
" If I do what you wish," said the regent, "what will be
the result ?"
" Probably, that you will own that I am no visionary, and
that you will allow others to watch over you, since you will
not watch over yourself."
" But, once for all, if the thing turns out not worth the
trouble, shall I be freed from your worrying ?"
" I promise you, on my honour."
HIS EXCELLENCY THE DUC HORLEANS.
95
" Abbe, if you have no objection, I should prefer another
oath."
" Oh, monscigneur, you are too hard; but you consent ?"
"Again this folly."
" You shall see if it be folly."
" I believe you make plots to frighten me."
" Then they are well made; you shall see."
"Are you certain ?"
"Absolutely."
"If I am not frightened, look to yourself."
" Monseigneur exacts too much."
" You are not sure, Dubois."
" I swear to you, monsieur, that you will be moved, and
will be glad Jto speak with his excellency's tongue."
And Dubois went out before the regent had time to with-
draw his consent.
Five minutes after, a courier entered the ante-chamber,
and gave a letter to a page, who brought it to the regent.
" Madame Desroches," said he, looking at the writing, and,
breaking the seal, read as follows :—
" Monseigneur,
" The young lady you left in my charge does not ap-
pear to be in safety here."
" Bah," cried the regent, and then read on—
" The residence in the town, which your highness feared
for her, would be a hundred times better than isolation; and
I do not feel strong enough to defend her as I would wish,
and as I ought."
"Ouais," said the regent, "it seems something is the
matter."
" A young man, who had written to Mademoiselle Helene
shortly before your arrival yesterday, presented himself this
morning at the pavilion ; I wished to refuse him admittance,
but mademoiselle so peremptorily ordered me to admit him,
and to retire, that in her look and tone I recognized the
blood which commands."
" Yes, yes," said the regent, " she is, indeed, my daugh-
96
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
ter; but who can this young man be? Some coxcomb
she must have seen in the convent oarlour." Then he
read on:—
" I believe, ~ monseigneur, that this young man and made-
moiselle have met before. I did not think it wrong to listen,
for your highness' service, and in spite of the double door I
once heard him say, ' To see you as formerly.' Will your
royal highness secure me against this danger, and send me a
written order which I can use to shelter mvself from the anger
of mademoiselle."
" Diable !" exclaimed the regent, " it cannot be a love
affair already; brought up in the only convent in France
where men never pass the parlour. No, it is some foolish
fear of Madame Desroches; but let us see what else she
writes."
"P.S. I have just been to the hotel Tigre Royal for in-
formation. The young man arrived yesterday evening at
seven o'clock, just three-quarters of an hour before made-
moiselle; he came by the Bretagne road, that is, the
road she also came. He travels under the name of M. de
Livry."
" Oh !" said the regent, " this looks like a concerted plan.
Pardieu ! Dubois would laugh if he knew this; how he would
talk ! It is to be hoped he knows nothing of it, in spite of
his police. Hola ! page."
The page who had brought the letter entered.
"Where is the messenger from Rambouillet ?"
" He is waiting for an answer."
" Give him this, and tell him to start at once."
As to Dubois, while preparing the interview between
Gaston and the false duke, he made the following calcula-
tion.
" I hold the regent both by himself and his daughter. This
intrigue of his is either serious or not; if it be not, I dis-
tress her in exaggerating it. If it be serious, I have the
merit of having discovered it; but I must not strike both
blows at once. First, I must save the duke, then his daugh-
ter, and there will be two rewards.—Is that the best?—
HIS EXCELLENCY THE DUC HORLEANS.
Yes—the duke first—if a young girl falls, no one suffers, if
a man falls, a kingdom is lost, let us begin with the duke."
And Dubois despatched a courier to M. de Montaran at
Nantes
M. de Montaran was, as we have said, the ancient Gover-
nor of Bretagne.
As to Gaston, his plan was fixed. Ashamed of being asso-
ciated with a man like Jonquiere, he congratulated himself
that he was now to communicate with the chief of the enter-
prise, and resolved, if he also appeared base and venial, to
return and take counsel with his friends at Nantes. As to
Helene, he doubted not, he knew her courage and her love,
and that she would die rather than have to blush before her
dearest friend. He saw with joy that the happiness of find-
ing a father did not lead her to forget the past, but still he
had his fears as to this mysterious paternity; even a king'
would own such a daughter, were there not some disgraceful
obstacle.
Gaston dressed himself carefully; there is a coquetry in
danger as well as in pleasure, and he embellished his youth
with every advantage of costume.
The regent, by Dubois' advice, dressed in black velvet
and half hid his face in an immense cravat of Mechlin
lace.
The interview was to take place in a house belonging to
the regent, in the Faubourg Saint Germain : he arrived
there at five o'clock, as night was falling.
98
THE REGENTS DA UGHTER.
CHAPTER XVI.
monseigneur, we are bretons.
Gaston remained in the room on the ground-floor, and
dressed himself carefully, as we have said, while Tapin con-
tinued his apprenticeship. By the evening he knew how to
measure a pint as well as his predecessor, and even better;
for he thought that in the compensation which would be
given to Bourguignon, waste would be considered, and that
therefore the less waste the better; so the morning's cus-
tomer on her return got badly served, and went off dis-
gusted.
When his toilet was finished, Gaston began to inspect La
Jonquiere's library, and found it composed of three sets of
books; theatrical books, obscene books, and arithmetical
books.
While he was thus engaged a man entered, introduced by
Tapin, who went out directly, and left him alone with Gaston.
The man announced that Captain la Jonquiere, not being
able to return, had sent him in his stead. Gaston demanding
proof, the man showed a letter in the same terms and the
same writing as the specimen Gaston had received, and then
the half coin, after which Gaston made no difficulty as to
following him, and both got into a carefully closed carriage.
They crossed the Pont-Neuf, and, in the Rue du Bac, stopped
at the courtyard of a pavilion ; then the man drew from his
pocket the paper bearing the chevalier's name as the third
signal of recognition.
Gaston and his companion alighted, ascended the four
steps of the doorway, and entered a large circular corri-
dor surrounding the pavilion. Gaston looked round and
MONSETGNEUR, WE ARE BRETONS.
99
saw that his guide had disappeared, and that he was
alone.
His heart beat quickly. He was about to face, not the
tool, but the master and originator of the whole plot, the
representative of a king; he was to play a kingdom against
a kingdom.
A bell sounded within.
Gaston almost trembled. He looked in a glass and saw
that he was pale; a thousand new ideas assailed him; the
door opened, and La Jonquiere appeared.
"Come, chevalier," said he, "we are expected."
Gaston advanced with a firm step.
They found a man seated in an arm-chair, his back turned
to the door. A single light, placed on a table and covered
with a shade, lighted only the lower part of his body ; his
head and shoulders were in shadow.
Gaston thought the face noble, and understood at once
that this was a man of worth, and no La Jonquiere. The
mouth was benevolent and the eyes large, bold, and firm,
like those of a king or a bird of prey; deep thought was
written on his brow, prudence and some degree of firmness
in the lower part of the face; all this, however, in the half-
darkness, and in spite of the Mechlin cravat.
"At least this is an eagle," thought he, " the other was but
a raven."
Gaston bowed silently, and the unknown, rising, went and
leant against the chimney.
" Monsieur is the person of whom I spoke to your
excellency," said La Jonquiere, "M. le Chevalier Gaston de
Chanlay."
The unknown bowed silently.
" Mordieu !" whispered Dubois in his ear, " if you do not
speak he will not say anything."
" This gentleman comes from Bretagne, I believe," said
the duke, coldly.
"Yes, monsieur; but will your excellency pardon me.
Captain la Jonquiere has told my name, but I have not been
told yours. Excuse my rudeness, monseigneur ; it is not I
who speak, it is my province, which sends me."
"You are right, monsieur," said La Jonquibre, quickly,
7—2
IOO
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
taking from a portfolio on the table a paper, at the bottom
of which was a large- signature with the seal of the King of
Spain.
" Here is the name," said he.
" Due d'Olivares," read Gaston.
Then turning to him, he bowed respectfully.
"And now, monsieur,''said the duke, "you will not, I
presume, hesitate to speak."
" I thought I had first to listen," said Gaston, still on the
defensive.
"True : but, remember, it is a dialogue ; each one speaks
in turn."
" Monseigneur, you do me too much honour, and I will
set the example of confidence."
" I listen, monsieur."
" Monseigneur, the states of Bretagne "
" The malcontents of Bretagne,' interrupted the regent,
smiling, in spite of a sign from Dubois.
" The malcontents are so numerous," replied Gaston,
" that they may be considered the representatives of the
province: however, I will employ the word your excellency
points out; the malcontents of Bretagne have sent me to
you, monseigneur, to learn the intentions of Spain in this
affair."
" First let us learn those of Bretagne."
" Monseigneur, Spain may count on us ; we pledge our
word, and Breton loyalty is proverbial.'
" But what do you promise ?"
" To second the efforts of the French nobility."
" But are you not French ?"
" Monseigneur, we are Bretons. Bretagne, re-united to
France by a treaty, may look on herself as separated from
the moment when France no longer respects the rights of
that treaty."
" Yes, I know ; the old story of Anne de Bretagne's con-
tract. It is a long time since that contract was signed,
monsieur."
The false La Jonquiere pushed the regent violently.
" What matter," said Gaston, " if each one of us has it by
heart ?"
MONSIEUR ANDRE.
roi
CHAPTER XVII.
MONSIEUR ANDRE.
" You said that the Breton nobility were ready to second
the French nobility : now, what do the French nobility
want?"
"They des're, in case of his majesty's death, to place
the King of Spain on the throne of France, as sole heir of
Louis XIV."
"Very good, very good,'" said La Jonquiere, taking snuff
with an air of extreme satisfaction.
" But,' said the regent, " the king is not dead, although
you speak almost as if he were."
" The Grand Dauphin, the Due and Duchesse de Bour-
gogne and their children, disappeared in a deplorable
manner.''
The regent turned pale with anger; Dubois coughed.
" Then they reckon on the king's death ?"
"Generally, monseigneur.'"
" Then that explains how the King of Spain hopes, in spite
of the renunciation of his rights, to mount the throne of
France. But, amongst the people attached to the regency,
he may meet with some opposition.''
The false Spaniard involuntarily lingered on these words.
" Monseigneur," replied the chevalier, " this case also has
been foreseen."
" Ah !" said Dubois, " this has been fcrreseen. Did not I
tell you, monseigneur, that the Bretons were valuable to us.
Continue, monsieur, continue."
In spite of this invitation, Gaston was silent.
162
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
"Well, monsieur," said the pretended duke, "I am listen-
ing."
" This secret is not mine, monseigneur."
" Then," said the duke, " I have not the confidence of
your chiefs ?"
" On the contrary, you alone have it."
" I understand, monsieur ; but the captain is my friend,
and I answer for him as for myself."
" My instructions are, monsieur, to speak to you alone."
" But, I tell you, I answer for the captain."
" In that case," said Gaston, bowing, " I have said all I
have to say."
" You hear, captain," said the regent; " have the kindness
to leave us alone."
"Yes, monseigneur; I have but two words to say to
you."
Gaston drew back.
" Monseigneur," whispered Dubois, " press him hard—get
out the whole affair—you will never have such another
chance. What do you think of our Breton ?"
" A noble fellow; eyes full of intelligence and a fine
head."
" So much the better for cutting it off."
" What do you say ?"
"Nothing, monseigneur; I am exactly of your opinion.
M. de Chanlay, your humble servant; some might be angry
that you would not speak before them, but I am not proud,
and, provided all things turn out as I expect, I do not care
for the means."
Chanlay bowed.
" Monsieur," said the regent, when Dubois had closed the
door, " we are alone, and I am listening. Speak—you under-
stand my impatience."
"Yes, monseigneur. You are doubtless surprised that
you have not yet received from Spain a certain despatch
which you were to send to Cardinal Olocroni ?"
" True, monsieur," said the regent, dissembling with diffi-
culty.
" I will explain the delay. The messenger who should
have brought this despatch fell ill, and has not left Madrid.
MONSIEUR ANDRE.
103
The Baron de Valef, my friend, who was in Spain, offered
himself; and, after three or four days' hesitation, at length—
as he was a man already tried in Cellamare's conspiracy—
they trusted him."
" In fact," said the regent, " the Baron de Valef narrowly
escaped Dubois' emissaries ; it needed some courage to renew
such a work. I know that when the regent saw Madame
du Maine and Cellamare arrested; Richelieu, Polignac,
Malezieux, and Mademoiselle de Launay in the Bastille;
and that wretched Lagrange-Chancel at the Sainte Mar-
-guerite, he thought all was finished."
" You see he was mistaken, monscigneur."
" But do not these Breton conspirators fear that in thus
rising they may sacrifice the heads of the Paris conspirators
whom the regent has in his power ?"
" They hope to save them, or die with them."
" How save them ?"
"Let us return to the despatch, if you please, monseigneur;
here it is."
The regent took the paper, but seeing tire address to his
excellency the Due d'Olivares, laid it on the table un-
opened.
Strange inconsistency ! This man opened two hundred
letters a day by his spies; it is true that then he dealt with
a Thorey or a Dubois, and not with a Chevalier de Chanlay.
"Well, monseigneur," said Gaston.
" You know, doubtless, what this despatch contains,
monsieur ?"
" Not word for word, perhaps; but I know what was
arranged."
" Well, tell me. I shall be glad to know how far you are
admitted into the secrets of the Spanish cabinet."
' When the regent is got rid of," said Gaston, without
noticing the slight start which his interlocuter gave at these
words, " the Due du Maine will be provisionally recognized
in his place. The Due du Maine will at once break
the treaty of the quadruple alliance signed by that wretch
Dubojs."
"I wish La Jonquiere had been here to hear you speak
thus ; it would have pleased him. Go on, monsieur."
io4
THE REGENTS DA OGHTER.
" The pretender will start with a fleet for the English
shore; Prussia, Sweden, and Russia will then be engaged
with Holland ; the empire will profit by this war to retake
Naples and Sicily, to which it lays claim through the house
of Suabia; the Grand Duchy of Tuscany will be assured to
the second son of the King of Spain; the Catholic low
countries will be re-united to France ; Sardinia given to the
Duke of Savoy, Commachio to the Pope. France will be the
soul of the great league of the south against the north; and,
if Louis XV. dies, Philip V. will be crowned king of half the
world."
"Yes, I know all that," said the regent, "and this is Cel-
lamare's conspiracy renewed. But you used a phrase I did
not understand."
" Which, monseigneur ?"
"You said, when the regent is got rid of. How is he to
be got rid of?"
" The old plan was, as you know, to carry him off to the
prison of Saragossa, or the fortress of Toledo.''
"Yes; and the plan failed through the duke's watchful-
ness."
" It was impracticable—a thousand obstacles opposed it.
How was it possible to take such a prisoner across France?"
" It was difficult," said the duke; " I never understood
the adoption of such a plan. I am glad to find it
modified."
" Monseigneur, it would be possible to seduce guards, to
escape from a prison or a fortress, to return to France,
retake a lost power, and punish those who had executed
this abduction. Philip V. and Alberoni have nothing to
fear; his excellency the Due d'Olivares regains the frontier
in safety; and, while half the conspirators escape, the other
half pay for all."
" However—■—"
"Monseigneur, we have the example of the last con-
spiracy before our eyes, and you yourself named those who
are in the Bastille."
" What you say is most logical," replied the duke.
" While, on the contraiy, in getting rid of the regent "
continued the chevalier.
MONSIEUR ANDRE.
" Yes; yon prevent his return. It is possible to return
from a prison, but not from a tomb—that is what you would
say ?"
"Yes, monseigneur," replied Gaston, with a somewhat
tremulous voice.
"Now I understand your mission. You come to Paris to
make away with the regent ?"
"Yes, monseigneur."
" Explain yourself." •
" We were five Breton gentlemen, forming a small party
or league in the midst of the general association, and it was
agreed that the majority should decide on our plans."
" I understand, and the majority decided that the regent
should be assassinated."
"Yes, monseigneur, four were for assassination, and one
against it."
" And thai one ?"
• " If I lose your excellency's confidence I must own that
I was that one."
" But, then, why are you to accomplish a design you dis-
approve ?"
"Chance was to decide the one who should strike the
blow."
"And the lot?"
" Fell on me, monseigneur."
"Why did you not refuse ?"
" The ballot was without names, no one knew my vote.
I should have been taken for a coward."
" And you came to Paris ?"
" For the task imposed on me."
" Reckoning on me ?"
" As on an enemy of the regent, for aid in accomplishing
an enterprise which not only concerns the interests of Spain,
but which will save our friends from the Bastille."
" Do they run as much danger as you believe ?"
" Death hovers over them ; the regent has proofs, and has
said of M. de Richelieu that if he had four heads he has
wherewith to condemn them all."
" He said that in a moment of passion."
" What, monseigneur, you defend the duke—you tremble
io6 THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
when a man devotes himself to save, not only his aC-
complices, but two "kingdoms—you hesitate to accept that
devotion."
"Ifyou fail!"
" Everything has its good and evil side ; if the happiness
of being the saviour of a country is lost, the honour of being
a martyr to its cause is gained."
" But remember, in facilitating your access to the regent,
I become your accomplice."
" Does that frighten you, monscigneur ?"
" Certainly, for you being arrested "
" Well—I being arrested ?"
" They may force from you, by means of tortures, the
names of those "
Gaston's reply was a smile of supreme disdain.
" You are a foreigner and a Spaniard, monseigneur," said
he, " and do not know what a French gentleman is, therefore
I pardon you."
" Then I may reckon on your silence."
"Pontcalec, Du Couedic, Talhouet, and Montlouis,
doubted me for an instant, and have since apologised to me
for doing so."
" Well, monsieur, I will think seriously of what you have
said, but in your place "
" In my place ?"
"I would renounce this enterprise."
" I wish I had never entered into it, monseigneur, I own,
for since I did so a great change has taken place in my life,
but I am in it and most accomplish it."
" Even if I refuse to second you ?"
" The Breton committee have provided for that emer-
gency."
"And decided "
" To do without you."
" Then your resolution "
" Is irrevocable."
" I have said all I had to say," replied the regent, " since
you are determined to pursue your undertaking."
"Monseigneur," said Gaston, "you seem to wish to
retire."
MONSIEUk ANDRE.
10?
u Have you anything more to say to me ?"
" Not to-day ; to-morrow, or the day after."
" You have the captain as go-between—when he gives me
notice I will receive you with pleasure."
" Monseigneur," said Gaston firmly, and with a noble air,
" let me speak freely. We should have no go-between; you
and I—so evidently separated by rank and station—are
equal before the scaffold which threatens us. I have even
a superiority over you, since I run the greater danger; how-
ever, you are now, monseigneur, a conspirator, like the
Chevalier de Chanlay, with this difference : that you have
the right—being the chief—to see his head fall before yours
—let me, then, treat as an equal with your excellency, and
see you when it is necessary."
The regent thought for a moment.
" Very well," said he, " this house is not my residence ;
you understand I do not receive many at my house : since
the war, my position is precarious and delicate in France ;
Cellamare is in prison at Blois; I am only a sort of consul
—good as a hostage—I cannot use too many precau-
tions."
The regent lied with a painful effort.
" Write, then, poste restante to M. Andre, you must name
the time at which you wish to see me, and I will be
there."
" Through the post ?" asked Gaston.
"Yes, it is only a delay of three hours; at each post a
man will watch for your letter, and bring it to me when it
arrives; three hours after you can come here."
" Your excellency forgets," said Gaston, laughing, "that
I do not know where I am, in what street, at what number;
I came by night. Stay, let us do better than that; you
asked for time to reflect, take till to-morrow morning, and
at eleven o'clock send for me. We must arrange a plan
beforehand, that it may not fail, like those plans where a
carriage or a shower of rain disconcerts everything."
" That is a good idea," said the regent; " to-morrow,
then, at eleven o'clock, you shall be fetched, and we will
then have no secrets from each other."
Gaston bowed and retired. J-a the antechamber he
108 THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
found the guide who brought him, but he noticed that in
leaving they crossed a garden which they had not passed
through on entering, and went out by a different door. At
this door the carriage waited, and it quickly arrived at the
Hue des Bourdonnais.
THE FAUBOURG SAINT ANTOINE.
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE FAUBOURG SAINT ANTOINE.
No more illusion for the chevalier. In a day or two he
might be called to his work.
The Spanish envoy had deeply impressed Gaston—there
was about him an air of greatness which surprised him.
A strange circumstance passed across his mind; there
was, between his forehead and eyes and those of Helene,
one of those vague and distant likenesses which seem almost
like the incoherence of a dream. Gaston, without knowing
why, associated these two faces in his memory, and could
not separate them. As he was about to lie down, worn
out with fatigue, a horse's feet sounded in the street, the
hotel door opened, and Gaston heard an animated con-
versation; but soon the door was closed, the noise ceased,
and he slept as a man sleeps at five-and-twentv, even if
he be a conspirator.
However, Gaston was not mistaken ; a horse had arrived,
and a conversation had taken place. A peasant from Ram-
bouillet brought in haste a note from a young and pretty
woman to the Chevalier de Chanlay, Hotel Muids d'Amour.
We can imagine who the young and pretty woman was.
Tapin took the letter, looked at it, then, taking off his
apron, left the charge of the hotel to one of his servants, and
went off to Dubois.
" Oh," exclaimed the latter, "let us see; a letter !"
He unsealed it skilfully by aid of steam, and, on reading
it, seemed pleased.
" Good ! excellent! Let them alone to go their own way;
we hold the reins, and can stop them when we like." Then.
I 10
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
turning to Tapin, he gave him the letter, which he had re-
sealed. " Here," said he, " deliver the letter."
"When ?" asked Tapin.
"At once."
Tapin stepped towards the door.
"No, stop," said Dubois; "to-morrow morning will be
soon enough."
" Now," said Tapin, " may I make an observation ?"
" Speak."
" As monseigneur's agent, I gain three crowns a day."
"Well, is not that enough, you scoundrel?"
" It was enough as agent. I do not complain, but it is not
enough as wine-merchant. Oh, the horrid trade !"
" Drink and amuse yourself."
" Since I have sold wine I hate it."
" Because you see how it is made; but drink champagne,
muscat, anything : Bourguignon pays. Apropos, he has
had a real attack; so your lie was only an affair of chro-
nology."
" Indeed."
" Yes, fear has caused it; you want to inherit his goods ?"
"No, no; the trade is not amusing."
" Well, I will add three crowns a day to your pay while
you are there, and I will give the shop to your eldest
daughter. Bring me such letters often, and you shall be
welcome."
Tapin returned to the hotel, but waited for the morning
to deliver the letter.
At six o'clock, hearing Gaston moving, he entered, and
gave him the note.
This was what it contained :
" My Friend,
" I think of your advice, and that perhaps you were
right at last, I fear. A carriage has just arrived—Madame
Desroches orders departure—I tried to resist—they shut
me up in my room; fortunately, a peasant passed by to
water his horse; I have given him two louis, and he pro-
mised to take you this note. I hear the last preparations
—in two hours we leave for Paris.
THE FAUBOURG SAINT ANTO/NE.
in
" On my arrival, I will send you my address, if I have to
jump out of the window and bring it.
" Be assured, the woman who loves you will remain worthy
of herself and you."
" Ah, Helene !" cried Gaston; " I was not deceived.
Eight o'clock, but she must have arrived. Why-was not this
letter brought to me at once ?"
" You were asleep, monsieur. I waited your awaking."
There was no reply to be made. Gaston thought he
would go and watch at the barrier, as Helene might not
have arrived. He dressed quickly, and set out, after saying
to Tapin :
" If Captain la Jonquiere comes here, say I shall be back
at nine."
While Gaston waits uselessly for Helene, let us look back.
We saw the regent receive Madame Desroches' letter and
send a reply. Indeed, it was necessary to remove Helene
from the attempts of this M. de Livry.
But who could he be ? Dubois alone could tell. So when
Dubois appeared,—
" Dubois," said the regent, " who is M. de Livry, of
Nantes ?"
u Livry—Livry," said he. " Stay !"
" Yes, Livry."
" Who knows such a name ? Send for M. d'Hozier."
" Idiot!"
" But, monseigneur, I do not study genealogies. I am an
unworthy plebeian."
"A truce to this folly."
" Diable ! it seems monseigneur is in earnest about these
Livrys. Are you going to give the order to one of them ?
because, in that case, I will try and find a noble origin."
" Go to the devil, and send me Noce."
Dubois smiled, and went out.
Noce quickly appeared. He was a man about forty, dis-
tinguished-looking, tall, handsome, cold and witty, one of
the regent's most faithful and favourite friends.
" Monseigneur sent for me."
112
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
"Ah, Noce, good day."
" Can I serve your royal highness in anything ?"
"Yes; lend me your house in the Faubourg Saint An-
foine, but empty, and carefully arranged. I will put my own
people in it."
" Is it to be for ?"
"For a prude, Noce."
" The houses in the faubourg have a bad name, mon-
seigneur."
" The person for whom I require it does not know that;
remember, absolute silence, Noce, and give me the keys."
" A quarter of an hour, monseigneur, and you shall have
them."
"Adieu, Noce, your hand; no spying, no curiosity, I
beg."
" Monseigneur, I am going to hunt, and shall only return
at your pleasure."
"Thanks; adieu till to-morrow."
The regent sat down and wrote to Madame Desroches,
sending a carriage with an order to bring Helene, after read-
ing her the letter without showing it to her.
The letter was as follows :
" My Daughter,
" On reflection, I wish to have you near me. There-
fore follow Madame Desroches without loss of time. On
your arrival at Paris, you shall hear from me.
" Your affectionate father."
Helene resisted, prayed, wept, but was forced to obey.
She profited by a moment of solitude to write to Gaston, as
we have seen. Then she left this dwelling which had become
dear to her, for there she had found her father and received
her lover.
As to Gaston, he waited vainly at the barrier, till, giving
up all hope, he returned to the hotel. As he crossed the
garden of the Tuileries, eight o'clock struck.
At that moment Dubois entered the regent's bedchamber
with a portfolio under his arm, and a triumphant smile on
his face.
THE ARTIST AND THE POLITICIAN.
ii'3
CHAPTER XIX.
the artist and the politician.
"Ah! it is you, Dubois," exclaimed the regent, as his
minister entered.
" Yes, monseigneur," said Dubois, taking out some papers.
" Well, what do you say to our Bretons now ?"
" What papers are those ?" asked the regent, who, in spite
of the preceding day's conversation, or perhaps because of it,
felt a secret sympathy with De Chanlay.
" Oh, nothing at all, first a little report of what passed yes-
terday evening between M. de Chanlay and his Excellency
the Due d'Olivares."
"You listened, then?" said the regent.
"Pardieu, monseigneur, what did you expect that I
should do ?"
" And you heard ?"
"All. What do you think of his Catholic Majesty's
pretentions ?"
" I think that perhaps they use his name without his
consent."
" And Cardinal Alberoni ? Tudieu ! monseigneur, how
nicely they manage Europe: the pretender in England;
Prussia, Sweden, and Russia tearing Holland to pieces ; the
empire recovering Sicily and Naples; the Grand Duchy of
Tuscany for Philip the Fifth's son; Sardinia for the King
of Savoy; Commachio for the Pope; France for Spain;
really, this plan is somewhat grand, to emanate from the brain
of a bell-ringer."
" All smoke ! these prospects," said the duke; " mere
dreams."
S
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" And the Breton league , is that all smoke ?"
" I am forced to own that that really exists."'
" And the dagger of our conspirator; is that a dream ?"
" No; it even appeared to me likely to be vigorously
handled."
" Peste ! monseigneur, you complained in the other plot
that you found none but rose-water conspirators. Well,
this time I hope you are better pleased. These fellows
strike hard."
" Do you know," said the regent, thoughtfully, " that
the Chevalier de Chanlay is of an energetic and vigorous
nature."
" Ah, the next thing will be, you will conceive a great ad-
miration for this fellow. I know, monseigneur, that you are
capable of it."
" How is it that a prince always finds such natures amongst
his enemies, and not amongst friends ?"
" Because, monseigneur, hatred is a passion, and devotion
often only a weakness; but if you will descend from the
height of philosophy and deign to a simple act, namely, to
give me two signatures "
" What signatures ?" asked the regent.
"First, there is a captain to be made a major."
" Captain la Jonquiere ?"
" Oh, no; as to him, we'll hang him when we have
done with him; but meanwhile, we must treat him with
care."
" Who, then, is this captain ?"
"A brave officer whom monseigneur eight days, or
rather eight nights ago, met in a house in the Rue St.
Honore."
" What do you mean ?"
" Ah, I see I must aid your memory a little, monseigneur,
since you have such a bad one."
"Speak, one can never get at the truth with you."
" In two words, eight nights ago you went out disguised
as a musketeer through the little door in the Rue Richelieu,
accompanied by Noce and Simiane."
" It is true; what passed in the Rue St. Honore ?"
" Do you wish to know, monseigneur ?"
THE ARTIST AND THE POLITICIAN'. iij?
tc I do."
u I can refuse you nothing."
"Speak, then."
" You supped at the house—that house, monseigneur."
" Still with Noce and Simiane ?"
" No, monseigneur, tete-a-tete. Noce and Simiane supped
too, but separately. You supped, then, and were at table,
when a brave officer, who probably mistook the door,
knocked so obstinately at yours, that you became impatient,
and handled the unfortunate who disturbed you somewhat
roughly; but he, who, it seems, was not of an enduring
nature, took out his sword, whereupon you, monseigneur,
who never look twice before committing a folly, drew your
rapier and tried your skill with the officer."
" And the result ?" asked the regent.
"Was, that you got a scratch on the shoulder, in return
for which you bestowed on your adversary a sword-thrust in
the breast."
" But it was not dangerous ?" asked the regent, anxiously.
" No; fortunately the blade glided along the ribs."
" So much the better."
" But that is not all."
"How ?"
"It appears that you owed the officer a special grudge."
" I had never seen him."
" Princes strike from a distance."
" What do you mean ?"
"This officer had been a captain for eight yeatSj
when, on your highness's coming into power, he was
dismissed."
" Then I suppose he deserved it."
" Ah, monseigneur, you would make us out as infallible
as the Pope !"
" He must have committed some cowardly act."
" He is one of the bravest officers in the service."
" Some infamous act then ?"
"He is the most honest fellow breathing,"
"Then this is an injustice to be repaired."
"Exactly; and that is why I prepared this majoPa
brevet."
8—2
il6 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
"Give it to me, Dubois, you have some good in you
sometimes."
A diabolical smile passed over Dubois's face as he drew
from his portfolio a second paper
The regent watched him uneasily.
"What is that paper?" asked he.
" Monseigneur, you have repaired an act of injustice, now
do an act of justice."
" The order to arrest the Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay,
and place him in the Bastille," cried the regent. " Ah ! I
see now why you bribed me with a good action; but stay,
this requires reflection."
" Do you think I propose to you an abuse of power,
monseigneur ?" asked Dubois, laughing.
" No, but yet "
" Monseigneur," continued Dubois, " when we have in our
hands the government of a kingdom, the thing most neces-
sary is, to govern."
"But it seems to me that I am the master.'
"To reward, yes; but on condition of punishing—the
balance of justice is destroyed, monseigneur, if an eternal
and blind mercy weighs down one of the scales. To act
as you always wish, and often do, is not good, but
weak. What is the reward of virtue, if you do not punish
vice ?"
" Then," said the regent, the more impatiently that he
felt he was defending a bad though generous cause, "if
you wished me to be severe, you should not have brought
about an interview between me and this young man; you
should not have given me the opportunity of appreciating
his worth, but have allowed me to suppose him a common
conspirator."
" Yes; and now, because he presented himself to your
highness under a romantic guise, your artistic imagination
runs away with you. Diable ! monseigneur, there is a time
for everything; so chemistry with Hubert, engraving with
Audran, music with Lafare, make love with the whole
world—but politics with me."
" Mon Dieu!" said the regent, " is it worth while to
defend a life, watched, tortured, calumniated as mine
is ?"
THE ARTIST AND THE POLITICIAN.
" But it is not your life you are defending, monseigneur;
consider, among all these calumnies which pursue you, and
against which heaven knows you should be steeled by this
time; your most bitter enemies have never accused you of
cowardice—as to your life, at Steinkirk, at Nerwinden, and
at Lerida, you proved at what rate you valued it. Pardieu !
if you were merely a private gentleman, a minister, or a
prince of the blood, and you were assassinated, a man's
heart would cease to beat, and that would be all; but
wrongly or rightly, you coveted a place among the power-
ful ones of the world; for that end you broke the will of
Louis the Fourteenth, you drove the bastards from the
throne whereon they had already placed their feet, you made
yourself Regent of France—that is to say, the key-stone of
the arch of the world. If you die, it is not a man who falls,
it is the pillar which supports the European edifice which
gives way; thus our four last years of watchfulness and
struggles would be lost, and everything around would be
shaken. Look at England; the Chevalier de Saint George
will renew the mad enterprises of the pretender; look at
Holland—Russia, Sweden, and Prussia would hunt her to
the death; look aty Austria—her-two headed eagle seizes
Venice and Milan, as an indemnification for the loss of
Spain; cast your eyes on France—no longer France, but
Philip the Fifth's vassal; look, finally, at Louis the Fifteenth,
the last descendant of the greatest monarch that ever gave
light to the world, and the child whom by watchfulness and
care we have saved from the fate of his father, his mother, and
his uncles, to place him safe and sound on the throne of his
ancestors; this child falls back again into the hands of those
whom an adulterous law boldly calls to succeed him; thus,
on all sides, murder, desolation, ruin, civil and foreign wars.
And why ? because it pleases Monsieur Philippe d'Orleans to
think himself still major of the king's troops, or commandant
•of the army in Spain, and to forget that he ceased to be so
from the moment he became Regent of France."
" You will have it, then," said the duke.
"Stay, monseigneur," said Dubois, " it shall not be said
that in an affair of this importance you gave way to my im-
portunity. I have said what I had to say, now I leave you
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
—do as you please. I leave you the paper; I am going to
give some orders, and in a quarter of an hour I will return to
fetch it."
And Dubois saluted the regent and went out.
Left alone, the regent became thoughtful—this whole affair,
so sombre and so tenacious of life, this remains of the former
conspiracy, filled the duke's mind with gloomy thoughts;
/he had braved death in battle, had laughed at abductions
meditated by the Spaniards and by Louis the Fourteenth's
bastards; but this time a secret horror oppressed him; he
felt an involuntary admiration for the young man whose
poniard was raised against him; sometimes he hated him,
at others he excused—he almost loved him. Dubois, cower-
ing down over this conspiracy like an infernal ape over some
dying prey, and piercing with his ravenous claws to its very
heart, seemed to him to possess a sublime intelligence and
power; he felt that he, ordinarily so courageous, should have
defended his life feebly in this instance, and his eyes invo-
luntarily sought the paper.
" Yes," murmured he, " Dubois is right, my life is no
longer my own; yesterday, my mother also told me the same
thing. Who knows what might happen if I were to fall ?
The same as happened at the death of my ancestor Henry
the Fourth, perchance. After having reconquered his king-
dom step by step, he was about—thanks to ten years of peace,
economy, and prosperity—to add Alsace, Lorraine, and
perhaps Flanders, to France, while the Duke of Savoy, his
son-in-law, descending the Alps, should cut out for himself
a kingdom in the Milanais, and with the leavings of that
kingdom enrich the kingdom of Venice and strengthen the
Dukes of Modena, Florence, and Mantua; everything was
ready for the immense result, prepared during the whole life
of a king who was at once a legislator and a soldier; then the
13th of May arrived; a carriage with the royal livery passed
the Rue de la F£ronnibre, and the clock of Les Innocents
struck three. In a moment all was destroyed; past pros-
perity, hopes of the future; it needed a whole century, a
minister called Richelieu and a king called Louis the
Fourteenth, to cicatrise the wound made in France by
Ravaillac's knife. Yes, Dubois was right," cried the duke,
THE ARTIST AND THE POLITICIAN. 119
" and I must abandon this young man to human justice;
besides, it is not I who condemn him; the judges are there
to decide; and/' added he, with animation, " have I not
still the power to pardon."
And quieted by the thought of this royal prerogative,
which he exercised in the name of Louis XV., he signed the
paper, and left the room to finish dressing.
Ten minutes after the door opened softly, Dubois care-
fully looked in, saw that the room was empty, approached
the table near which the prince had been seated, looked
rapidly at the order, smiled on seeing the signature, and fold-
ing it in four, placed it in his pocket, and left the room with
an air of great satisfaction.
120
THE EE GENT'S DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XX.
blood reveals itself.
When Gaston returned from the Barriere de la Conference,
and left his room, he found La Jonquiere installed by the
fireplace, and discussing a bottle of wine which he had just
uncorked.
" Well, chevalier," said he, as Gaston entered, " how do
you like my room ? it is convenient, is it not ? Sit down and
taste this wine ; it rivals the best Rosseau. Do you drink
Rosseau? No, they do not drink wine in Bretagne; they
drink cider or beer, I believe. I never could get anything
worth drinking there, except brandy."
Gaston did not reply, for he was so occupied that he had
not even heard what La Jonquiere said. He threw himself
in an easy chair, with his hand in his pocket, holding
Helene's first letter.
"Where is she?" he asked himself; "this immense, un-
bounded Paris may keep her from me for ever. Oh ! the
difficulty is too great for a man without power or experi-
ence !"
"Apropos," said La Jonquiere, who had followed the
young man's ideas easily, "there is a letter for you."
" From Bretagne ?" asked the chevalier, trembling.
" No; from Paris. A beautiful writing—evidently a
woman's."
" Where is it ?" cried Gaston.
" Ask our host. When I came in he held it in his
hands."
" Give it to me," cried Gaston, rushing into the common
room,
BLOOD REVEALS ITSELF.
121
" What does monsieur want ?" asked Tapin, with his usual
politeness.
'' My letter."
" What letter ?"
'■ The letter you received for me."
Pardon, monsieur ; I forgot it."
And he gave Gaston the letter.
"Poor imbecile!" said the false La Jonquiere, "and
these idiots think of conspiring. It is like D'Harmental;
they think they can attend to love and politics at the same
time. Triple fools; if they were to go at once to La Fillon's
for the former, the latter would not be so likely to bring
them to the Place de Greve.'
Gaston returned joyously, reading and re-reading Helene's
letter. " Rue du Faubourg St, Antoine; a white house
behind trees—poplars, I think. I could not see the number,
but it is the thirty-first or thirty-second house on the left
side, after passing a chateau with towers, resembling a
prison."
"Oh," cried Gaston, "I can find that; it is the Bas-
tille."
Dubois overheard these words.
" Parbleu ; I will take care you shall find it, if I lead you
there myself."
Gaston looked at his watch, and finding that it wanted two
hours of the time appointed for his rendezvous in the Rue
du Bac,took up his hat and was going out.
" What! are you going away ?" asked Dubois.
" I am obliged to do so."
" And our appointment for eleven o'clock ?"
" It is not yet nine."
" You do not want me ?"
"No, thank you."
" If you are preparing an abduction, for instance, I am an
adept, and might assist you."
" Thank you," said Gaston, reddening involuntarily, " but
I am not."
Dubois whistled an air, to show that he took the answer
for what it was worth.
" Shall I find you here on my return," asked Gaston,
122
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" I do not know; perhaps I also have to reassure some
pretty creature who is interested in mc ; but, at any rate, at
the appointed hour you will find your yesterday's guide with
the same carriage and the same coachman."
Gaston took a hasty leave. At the corner of the cemetery
of the Innocents he took a carriage, and was driven to the
Rue St. Antoine. At the twentieth house he alighted,
ordering the driver to follow him; then he proceeded to
examine the left side of the street. He soon found himself
facing a high wall, over which he saw the tops of some tall
poplars; this house, he felt sure, was the one where Helene
was.
But here his difficulties were but commencing. There
was no opening in the wall, neither bell nor knocker at the
door j those who came with couriers galloping before them
to strike with their silver-headed canes could dispense with
a knocker Gaston was afraid to strike with a stone, for
fear of being denied admittance, he therefore ordered the
coachman to stop, and going up a narrow lane by one side
of the house, he imitated the cry of the screech-owl,—a
signal preconcerted.
Helene started. She recognised the cry, and it seemed
to her as though she were again in the Augustine convent
at Clissons, with the chevalier's boat under her windows.
She ran to the window; Gaston was there.
Helene and he exchanged a glance ; then, re-entering
the room, she rang a bell, which Madame Desroches had
given her, so violently that two servants and Madame
Desroches herself all entered at once.
"Go and open the door," said Helene, imperiously.
" There is some one at the door whom I expect."
" Stop," said Madame Desroches to the valet, who was
going to obey; " I will go myself."
" Useless, madame. I know who it is, and I have already
told you that it is a person whom I expect."
" But mademoiselle ought not to receive this person," re-
plied the duenna, trying to stand her ground.
" I am no longer at the convent, madame, and I am not
yet in prison," replied Helene; " and I shall receive whom
I please."
BLOOD BE VEALS ITSELF.
123
" But, at least, I may know who this is ?"
" I see no objection. It is the same person whom I re-
ceived at Rambouillet."
" M. de Livry ?"
"Yes."
" I have positive orders not to allow this young man to
see you."
"And / order you to admit him instantly."
" Mademoiselle, you disobey your father," said Madame
Desroches, half angrily, half respectfully.
"My father does not see through your eyes, madame."
" Yet, who is master of your fate ?"
" I alone," cried Helene, unwilling to allow any domi-
nation.
" Mademoiselle, I swear to you that your father "
" Will approve, if he be my father."
These words, given with all the pride of an empress,
cowed Madame Desroches, and she had recourse to silence.
" Well," said Helene, " I ordered that the door should be
opened; does no one obey when I command ?"
No one stirred; they waited, for the orders of Madame
Desroches.
Helene smiled scornfully, and made such an imperious
gesture that Madame Desroches moved from the door, and
made way for her; Helene then, slowly and with dignity,
descended the staircase herself, followed by Madame Des-
roches, who was petrified to find such a will in a young
girl just out of a convent.
" She is a queen," said the waiting-maid to Madame Des-
roches; " I know I should have gone to open the door, if
she had not done so herself."
"Alas!" said the duenna, "they are all alike in that
family."
" Do you know the family, then ?" asked the servant,
astonished.
Madame Desroches saw that she had said too much.
"Yes," said she; "I formerly knew the marquis, her
father."
Meanwhile Helene had descended the staircase, crossed
the court, and opened the door; on the step stood Gaston,
124
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" Come, my friend," said Helene.
Gaston followed her, the door closed behind them, and
they entered a room on the ground floor.
" You called me, and I am here, Helene," said the young
man ; "what do you fear, what dangers threaten you ?"
" Look around you," said Helene, " and judge."
The room in which they were was a charming boudoir,
adjoining the dining room, with which it communicated not
only by folding-doors, but also by an opening almost con-
cealed by rare and peculiar flowers. The boudoir was hung
with blue satin; over the doors were pictures by Claude
Audran, representing the history of Venus in four tableaux,
while the panels formed other episodes of the same history,
all most graceful in outline and voluptuous in expression
This was the house which Noce, in the innocence of his
heart, had designated as fit for a prude.
" Gaston," said Helene, " I wonder whether I should
really mistrust this man, who calls himself my father. My
fears are more aroused here than at Rambouillet."
After examining the boudoir, Gaston and Helene passed
into the dining-room, and then into the garden, which was
ornamented with marble statues of the same subjects as the
pictures. As they returned, they passed Madame Desroches,
who had not lost sight of them, and who, raising her hands
in a despairing manner, exclaimed :
" Oh, mon Dieu! what would monseigneur think of
this ?"
These words kindled the smouldering fire in Gaston's
breast.
" Monseigneur !" cried he; "you heard Helene—monseig
neur! We are then, as I feared, in the house of one of
those great men who purchase pleasure at the expense of
honour. Helene, do not allow yourself to be deceived. At
Rambouillet I foresaw danger; here I see it."
" Mon Dieu," said Helene, " but if, by aid of his valets,
this man should retain me here by force."
" Do not fear, Helene; am not I here ?"
" Oh !" said Helene, " and must I renounce the sweet
idea of finding a father, a preceptor, a friend."
"And at what a moment, when you are about to be left
BLOOD BE VEALS ITS ELL".
alone in the world," said Gaston, unconsciously betraying a
part of his secret.
" What were you saying, Gaston ? What is the meaning
of these words ?"
" Nothing—nothing," replied the young man ; " some
meaningless words which escaped me, and to which you
must not attach any consequence."
" Gaston, you are hiding some dreadful secret from me,
since you speak of abandoning me at the moment I lose a
father."
" Helene, I will never abandon you except with life."
" Ah," cried the young girl, " your life is in danger, and
it is thus that you fear to abandon me. Gaston, you betray
yourself; you are no longer the Gaston of former days. You
met me to-day with a constrained joy; losing me yesterday
did not cause you intense sorrow : there are more important
prospects in your mind than in your heart. There is some-
thing in you—pride, or ambition, more powerful than your
love. You turn pale, Gaston; your silence breaks my
heart."
"Nothing—nothing, Helene, I assure you. Is it sur-
prising that I am troubled to find you here, alone and
defenceless, and not know how to protect you ; for doubtless
this is a man of power. In Bretagne I should have had
friends and two hundred peasants to defend me; here I have
no one."
" Is that all, Gaston ?"
" That is, it seems to me, more than enough."
" No, Gaston, for we will leave this house instantly."
Gaston turned pale ; Helene lowered her eyes, and placing
her hand in that of her lover—
" Before these people who watch us," said she ; " before
the eyes of this woman, we will go away together."
Gaston's eyes lighted up with joy ; but sombre thoughts
quickly clouded them again. Helene watched this changing
expression.
"Am I not your wife, Gaston?" said she; "is not my
honour yours ? Let us go."
" But where to place you ?" said Gaston.
" Gaston," replied Helene, " I know nothing? I can do
126 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
nothing; I am ignorant of Paris—of the world; I only
know myself and you; well, you have opened my eyes; I
distrust all except your fidelity and love."
Gaston was in despair. Six months previous, and he
would have paid with his life the generous devotion of the
courageous girl.
" Helene, reflect," said Gaston ; " if we were mistaken,
and this man be really your father !"
" Gaston, do you forget that you first taught me to distrust
him ?"
" Oh, yes, Helene, let us go," cried Gaston.
" Where are we to go ?" asked Helene; " but you need
not reply^-if you know, it is sufficient."
" Helene," said Gaston, " I will not insult you by swearing
to respect your honour; the offer which you have made
to-day I have long hesitated to make—rich, happy, sure for
the present of fortune and happiness, I would have placed
all at your feet, trusting to God for the future; but at this
moment I must tell you, that you were not mistaken; from
day to day, from this day to the next, there is a chance of
a terrible event. I must tell you now, Helene, what I can
offer you. If I succeed, a high and powerful position; but
if I fail, flight, exile, it may be poverty. Do you love me
enough, Helene, or rather do you love your honour enough,
to brave all this and follow me ?"
"I am ready, Gaston; tell me to follow you, and I do
so."
" Well, Helene, your confidence shall not be displaced,
believe me ; I will take you to a person who will protect you,
if necessary, and who, in my absence, will replace the father
you thought to find, but whom you have, on the contrary,
lost a second time."
"Who is this person, Gaston? This is not distrust,"
added Helene, with a charming smile, " but curiosity."
" Some one who can refuse me nothing, Helene, whose
days are dependent on mine, and who will think I demand
small payment when I exact your peace and security."
"Still mysterious, Gaston : really, you frighten me."
" This secret is the last, Helene; from this moment my
whole life will be open to you."
BLOOD BE VEALS ITSELE.
!27
" I thank you, Gaston."
" And now I am at your orders, Helene."
" Let us go then."
Helene took the chevalier's arm, and crossed the drawing-
room, where sat Madame Desroches, pale with anger, and
scrawling a letter, whose destination we can guess.
" Mon Dieu ! mademoiselle, where are you going ? what
are you doing ?"
" I am going away from a house where my honour is
threatened."
" What!" cried the old lady, springing to her feet, " you
are going away with your lover "
"You are mistaken, madame," replied Helene, in an accent
of dignity, " it is with my husband "
Madame Desroches, terrified, let her hands fall by her side,
powerless.
" You shall not go, mademoiselle, even if I am forced to
use violence."
" Try, madame," said Helene, in the queenly tone which
seemed natural to her.
" Hola, Picard, Coutourier, Blanchet."
The servants appeared.
" The first who stops me I kill," said Gaston quietly, as he
drew his sword.
" What a will," cried Madame Desroches; " ah, Mes-
demoiselles de Chartres and de Valois, I recognise you
there."
The two young people heard this exclamation, but did not
understand it.
"We are going, madame," said Helene; "do not forget
to repeat, word by word, what I told you."
And, hanging on Gaston's arm, flushed with pleasure and
pride, brave as an ancient Amazon, the young girl ordered
that the door should be opened for her; the Swiss did not
dare to resist. Gaston took Helene by the hand, summoned
the carriage in which he had come, and seeing that he was
to be followed, he stepped towards the assailants, and said
in a loud voice :
" Two steps further, and I tell this history aloud, and place
128
THE REGENT'S DA UGHTET.
myself and mademoiselle under the safe-guard of the public
honour."
Madame Desroches believed that Gaston knew the mystery,
and would declare it: she therefore thought best to retire
quickly, followed by the servants.
The intelligent driver started at a gallop.
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC.
120
CHAPTER XXL
what passed in the rue du bac while waiting for
gaston.
" What, monseigneur, you here!" cried Dubois, entering
the room of the house in the Rue du Bac, and finding
the regent seated in the same place as on the previous
day.
"Yes; is there anything wonderful in that? Have I not
an appointment at noon with the chevalier ?"
" But I thought the order you signed would have put an
end to these conferences."
" You were mistaken, Dubois ; I wish to have another
interview with this young man. I shall make one more effort
to induce him to renounce his plans,"
" And if he should do so ?"
" Then all will be at an end—there will be no conspiracy
—there will have been no conspirators. I cannot punish
intentions."
" With any other I should not allow this ; but with him I
say, as you please."
" You think he will remain firm ?"
" Oh! I am quite easy. But when he has decidedly
refused, when you are quite convinced that he persists in his
intention of assassinating you, then you will give him over to
me, will you not ?"
" Yes, but not here."
"Why not here?" _
" Better to arrest him at his hotel."
" There, at the Muids d'Amour, with Tapin and D'Argen-
son's people—impossible, monsieur. Bourguignon's affair is
9
i30 THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
still in everybody's mouth in that quarter. I am not sure that
they even quite believe in the attack of apoplexy, since Tapin
now gives strict measure. It will be much better to arrest him
as he leaves here, monseigneur; the house is quiet; four
men could easily do it, and they are already here. I will
move them, as you insist on seeing him; and, instead of
arresting him as he enters, it must be done as he leaves.
At the door a carriage shall be ready to take him to the
Bastille; so that even the coachman who brings him here
shall not know what has become of him. No one but
Monsieur Delaunay shall know; and I will answer for his
discretion."
" Do as you please."
" That is my usual custom."
" Rascal that you are !"
" But I think monseigneur reaps the benefit of the ras-
cality."
"Oh, I know you are always right."
" But the others ?"
" What others ?"
"The Bretons, Pontcalec, Du Couedic, Talhouet, and
Montlouis ?"
"Oh, the unfortunates ; you know their names."
" And how do you think I have passed my time at the
hotel Muids d'Amour ?"
" They will know of their accomplice's arrest."
" How ?"
" Having no letter from Paris, they will fear that some*
thing is wrong."
"Bah! Is not Captain la Jonquiere there to reassufe
them ?"
" True; but they must know the writing ?"
" Not bad, monseigneur, you are improving; but you take
useless precautions, as Racine says. At this moment, pro*
bably, they are arrested."
" And who despatched the order."
" I. Pardieu ! I am not your minister for ndthing.
Besides, you signed it."
" I ! Are you mad ?"
" Assuredly, these men are not less guilty than the cheva-
WHAT PASSED IN THE DUE DU BAC.
lier; and in authorising me to arrest one, you authorised me
to arrest all."
" And when did the bearer of this order leave ?"
Dubois took out his watch.
"Just three hours ago. Thus, it was a poetical license
when I said they were all arrested; they will not be till to-
morrow morning."
"Bretagne will be aroused, Dubois."
" Bah ! I have taken measures."
" The Breton tribunals will not condemn their com-
patriots."
" That case is foreseen."
"And, if they should be condemned, none will be
found to execute them. It will be a second edition of
the affair at Chalais. Remember, it was at Nantes that
that took place, Dubois. I tell you, Bretons are unaccom-
modating."
" This is a point to settle with the commissioners, of whom
this is a list. I will send three or four executioners from
Paris—men accustomed to noble deeds—who have preserved
the traditions of the Cardinal de Richelieu."
" Good God !" cried the regent; " bloodshed under my
?eign—-I do not like it. As to Count Horn, he was a thief,
and Duchaffour a wretch ; but I am tender, Dubois."
" No, monseigneur, you are not tender; you are uncertain
and weak ; I told you so when you were my scholar—I tell
you so again, now that you are my master. When you were
christened, your godmothers, the fairies, gave you every gift
of nature—strength, beauty, courage, and mind : only one—•
whom they did not invite because she was old, and they
probably foresaw your aversion to old women—arrived the
last, and gave you weakness—that spoiled all."
" And who told you this pretty tale ? Perrault or St.
Simon ?"
"The princess palatine, your mother."
The regent laughed.
"And whom shall we Choose for the commission ?" asked
he.
"Oh, monseigneur, people of mind and resolution, be
sure ; not provincials; not very sensitive to family scenes j
Q—2
132
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
men old in the dust of tribunals, whom the Breton men will
not frighten with their fierce eyes, nor the Breton women
seduce with their beautiful languid ones."
The regent made no reply.
"After all," continued Dubois, "these people may not be
as guilty as we suppose. What they have plotted let us re-
capitulate. Bah ! mere trifles. To bring back the Spaniards
into France, what is that ? To call Philip the Fifth king, the
renouncer of his country; to break all the laws of the state
—these good Bretons."
" Dubois, I know the national law as well as you."
" Then, monseigneur, if you speak truly, you have only
to approve the nomination of the commissioners I have
chosen."
" How many are there ?"
" Twelve."
" Their names ?"
Dubois gave in the list.
" Ah, you were right—a happy choice; but who is to pre-
side over this amiable assembly ?"
" Guess, monseigneur."
" Take care; you must have an honest man at the head
of these ravagers."
" I have one."
" Who is it ?"
" An ambassador.'"'
"Cellamare, perhaps."
" Ma foi! I think if you would let him come out of Blois
he would not refuse you even the heads of his ac-
complices."
" Let him stop at Blois. Who is to preside ?"
" Chateau-Neuf."
"The ambassador from Holland, from the great king.
Dubois, I do not generally compliment you, but this time
you have done wonders."
"You understand, monseigneur: he knows that these
people wish to make a republic ; and he, who is brought up
to know none but Sultans, and who has a horror of Holland
through the horror of Louis XIV. for republics, has accepted
with a good grace. We shall have Argram for prosecutor :
WHAT PASSED J AT THE RUE DU BAC. 133
Cayet shall be our secretary. We go to work quickly and
well, monseigneur, for time presses."
" But shall we at least have quiet afterwards ?"
" I believe so. We may sleep all day and all night; that
is to say, when we have finished the war in Spain."
" Oh !" cried the regent, " why did I strive for the
regency ? I should laugh to see M. du Maine freeing him-
self with his Jesuits and his Spaniards ! Madame de Main-
tenon and her politics, with Villeroy and Villars, would
drive away the spleen; and Hubert says it is good to laugh
once a day."
"Apropos of Madame de Maintenon," replied Dubois;
" you know, monseigneur, that she is very ill, and that she
cannot live a fortnight."
" Bah !"
" Since the imprisonment of Madame du Maine and the
exile of her husband, she says that decidedly Louis XIV. is
dead, and that she goes weeping to rejoin him."
" Which does not trouble you, eh ?"
" Oh ! I confess that I hate her cordially; it was she who
made the king open his eyes so wide when I asked for the
red hat at your marriage ; and, corbleu ! it was not an easy
thing to arrange, monseigneur, as you know. If you had
not been there to redress my wrongs, she would have
spoiled my career. If I could but have crammed her
M. du Maine into this Bretagne affair; but it was impos-
sible—the poor man is half dead with fear, so that he says
to every one he meets, ' Do you know there has been a
conspiracy against the government of the king and against
the person of the regent ? it is a disgrace to France. Ah !
if all men were only like me !'"
"No one would conspire—that is certain," said the
regent.
" He has disowned his wife," added Dubois, laughing.
" And she has disowned her husband," said the regent,
laughing also.
" I should not advise you to imprison them together—
they would fight."
" Therefore I have placed one at Doulens, and the other
at Dijon."
134
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" From whence they bite by post."
u Let us put all that aside, Dubois."
" Ah, monseigneur ! you have, I see, sworn the loss of
the blood of Louis XIY. ; you are a true executioner."
This audacious joke proved how sure Dubois felt of his
ascendency over the prince.
The regent signed the order naming the tribunal, and
Dubois went out to prepare for Gaston's arrest.
Gaston, on his return to the Muids d'Amour, found the
same carriage and the same guide awaiting him that had
before conducted him to the Rue du Bac. Gaston, who
did not wish Helene to alight, asked if he could con-
tinue his route in the hired carriage in which he had
just arrived; the man replied that he saw no objection,
and mounted on the box by the driver, to whom he told the
address.
During the drive, Gaston, instead of displaying the
courage which Helene had expected, was sad, and yet gave
no explanation of his sadness. As they entered the Rue
du Bac, Helene, in despair at finding so little force of
character in him on whom she leaned for protection, said :
" Gaston, you frighten me."
" Helene, you shall see before long if I am acting for your
good or not."
The carriage stopped.
" Helene, there is one in this house who will stand in
the place of a father to you. Let me go first, and I announce
you."
" Ah !" cried Helene, trembling, she knew not why; "and
you are going to leave me here alone ?"
" You have nothing to fear, Helene; besides, in a few
minutes I will return and fetch you."
The young girl held out her hand, which Gaston pressed
to his lips; the door opened; the carriage drove into the
courtyard, where Gaston felt that Helene ran no danger; the
man who had come to the hotel to fetch him opened the
carriage door; Gaston again pressed Helene's hand, alighted,
ascended the steps, and entered the corridor, when- his guide
left him as before.
Gaston, knowing that Helene waited his return, at once
tapped at the door of the room,
WHAT PASSED JN THE RUE DU BAC.
135
" Enter," said the voice of the false Spaniard.
Gaston knew the voice, entered, and with a calm face ap-
proached the Due d'Olivares.
"You are punctual, monsieur," said the latter; "we
named noon, and it is now striking."
" I am pressed for time, monseigneur; my undertaking
weighs on me; I fear to feel remorse. That astonishes and
alarms you, does it not, monseigneur ? But reassure your-
self; the remorse of a man such as I am troubles no one but
himself."
" In truth, monsieur," cried the regent, with a feeling of
joy he could not quite conceal, " I think you are drawing
back."
" Not so, monseigneur; since fate chose me to strike the
prince, I have gone steadily forward, and shall do so till my
mission is accomplished."
" Monsieur, I thought I detected some hesitation in your
words; and words are of weight in certain mouths, and
under certain circumstances."
" Monsieur, in Bretagne we speak as we feel, but we also
do as we promise."
" Then you are resolved ?"
" More than ever."
" Because, you see," replied the regent, " there is still time
—the evil is not yet done."
" The evil, you call it, monseigneur," said Gaston; " what
shall I call it then ?"
" It is thus that I meant it," replied the regent; " the evil
is for you, since you feel remorse."
" It is not generous, monseigneur, to dwell on a confidence
which I should not have made to any person of less merit
than yourself."
"And it is because I appreciate your worth, monsieur,
that I tell you there is yet time to draw back; that I ask if
you have reflected—if you repent having mixed yourself with
all these—"—the duke hesitated—" these audacious enter-
prizes. Fear nothing from me—I will protect you, even if
you desert us; I have seen you but once, but I think I judge
of you as you deserve—men of worth are so rare that the
regrets will be for us."
136
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Such kindness overwhelms me, monseigneur," said Gas-
ton, who, in spite of his courage, felt some indecision. " My
prince, I do not hesitate; but my reflections are those of a
duellist, who goes to the ground determined to kill his enemy,
yet deploring the necessity which forces him to rob a man of
life. But here the interest is so great, so superior to the
weaknesses of our nature, that I will be true to my friendship
if not my sympathies, and will conduct myself so that you
shall esteem in me even the momentary weakness which for
a second held back my arm."
" Well," said the regent, " how shall you proceed ?"
" I shall wait till I meet him face to face, and then I shall
not use an arquebuss, as Paltrot did, nor a pistol, as Vitry did.
I shall say, { Monseigneur, you are the curse of France—I
sacrifice you to her salvation;' and I shall stab him with
my poniard."
" As Ravaillac did," said the duke, with a serenity which
made Gaston shudder; " it is well."
Gaston did not reply.
" This plan appears to me the most secure, and I approve
of it; but I must ask you one other question : suppose you
should be taken and interrogated ?"
" Your excellency knows what men do in such cases—they
die, but do not answer; and since you have quoted Ravaillac,
I think, if my memory serves me, that was what he did—
and yet Ravaillac was not a gentleman."
Gaston's pride did not displease the regent, who had a
young heart and a chivalric mind; besides, accustomed to
worn-out and time-serving courtiers, Gaston's vigorous and
simple nature was a novelty to him; and we know how the
regent loved a novelty. .
" I may then reckon," said he, " that you are immove-
able ?"
Gaston looked surprised that the duke should repeat this
question.
" Yes," said the regent; " I see you are decided."
" Absolutely, and wait your last instructions."
" How ? my instructions ?"
" Certainly; I have placed myself body and soul at your
disposal."
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU RAC. 137
The duke rose.
" Well," said he, " you must go out by that door, and
cross the garden which surrounds the house. In a car-
riage which awaits you at the bottom you will find my
secretary, who will give you a pass for an audience with
the regent; besides that, you will have the warranty of my
word."
"That is all I have to ask on that point, monsei-
gneur.
" Have you anything else to say ?"
" Yes; before I take leave of you, whom I may never see
again in this world, I .have a boon to ask."
" Speak, monsieur; I listen."
" Monsieur," said Gaston, " do not wonder if I hesitate a
moment, for this is no personal favour and no ordinary ser-
vice—Gaston de Chanlay needs but a dagger, and here it is;
but in sacrificing his body he would not lose his soul; mine,
monseigneur, belongs first to God and then to a young girl
whom I love to idolatry—sad love, is it not, which has
bloomed so near a tomb ? To abandon this pure and tender
girl would be to tempt God in a most rash manner, for I see
that sometimes he tries us cruelly, and lets even his angels
suffer. I love, then, an adorable woman, whom my affection
has supported and protected against infamous schemes;
when I am dead or banished, what will become of her ? Our
heads fall, monseigneur; they are those of simple gentlemen ;
but you are a powerful adversary, and supported by a
powerful king; you can conquer evil fortune. I wish to place
in your hands the treasure of my soul. You will bestow on
her all the protection which, as an accomplice, as an associate,
you Owe to me."
" Monsieur, I promise you," replied the regent, deeply
moved.
" That is not all, monseigneur; misfortune may overtake
me, and find me not able to bestow my person upon her; I
would yet leave her my name. If I die she has no fortune,
for she is an orphan. On leaving Nantes I made a will
wherein I left her everything I possessed. Monseigneur, if
I die, let her be a widow—is it possible ?"
" Who opposes it ?"
138 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" No one; but I may be arrested to-morrow, this evening,
on putting my foot outside this house."
The regent started at this strange presentiment.
" Suppose I am taken to the Bastille; could you obtain
for me permission to marry her before my execution."
" I am sure of it."
"You will use every means to obtain this favour for me?
Swear it to me, monseigneur, that I may bless your name,
and that, even under torture, nothing may escape but a
thanksgiving when I think of you."
" On my honour, monsieur, I promise you that this
young girl shall be sacred to me; .she shall inherit in
my heart all the affection which I involuntarily feel for
you."
" Monseigneur, one word more."
" Speak, monsieur; I listen with the deepest sym-
pathy."
" This young girl knows nothing of my project; she does
not know what has brought me to Paris, nor the catastrophe
which threatens us, for I have not had the courage to tell
her. You will tell it to her, monseigneur—prepare her for
the event. I shall never see her again, but to become her
husband. If I were to see her again at the moment of
striking the blow which separates me from her, my hand
might tremble, and this must not be."
" On my word of honour, monsieur," said the regent,
softened beyond all expression, " I repeat, not only shall this
young girl be sacred to me, but I will do all you wish for
her—she shall reap the fruits of the respect and affection
with which you have inspired me."
" Now," said Gaston, " I am strong."
" And where is this young girl?"
" Below, in the carriage which brought me. Let me
retire, monseigneur, and only tell me where she will be
placed."
" Here, monsieur; this house, which is not inhabited,
and which is very suitable for a young girl, shall be
hers."
"Monseigneur, your hand."
The regent held out his hand, but hearing a little dry
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC.
cough, he understood that Dubois was becoming impa-
tient, and he indicated to Gaston that the audience was
over.
"Once more, monseigneur, watch over this young girl; she
is beautiful, amiable and proud—one of those noble natures
which we meet but seldom. Adieu, monseigneur, I go to
find your secretary."
"And must I tell her that you are about to take a man's
life ?" asked the regent, making one more effort to restrain
Gaston.
"Yes, monseigneur," said the chevalier; "but you will
add that I do it to save France."
" Go then, monsieur," said the duke, opening a door
which led into the garden, " and follow the directions I have
given you."
" Wish me good fortune, monseigneur."
" The madman," thought the regent; " does he wish me
to pray for success to his dagger's thrust ? Ma foi, no !"
Gaston went out, the gravel, half-covered with snow,
creaked under his feet—the regent watched him for some
time from the window of the corridor—then, when he had
lost sight of him,—
"Well," said he, "each one must go his own way. Poor
fellow !"
And he returned to the room, where he found Dubois,
who had entered by another door, and was waiting for
him.
Dubois' face wore an expression of malicious satisfaction
which did not escape the regent, who watched him some
time in silence, as if trying to discover what was passing
through the brain of this second Mephistopheles.
Dubois was the first to speak.
"Well, monseigneur, you are rid of him at last, I
hope."
"Yes," replied the duke.; "but in a manner which greatly
displeases me—I do not like playing a part in your comedies,
as you know."
" Possibly; but you might, perhaps, do wisely in giving
me a part in yours."
" How so ?"
140
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" They would be more successful, and the denouements
would be better."
" I do not understand—explain yourself, and quickly, for
I have some one waiting whom I must receive."
" Oh! certainly, monseigneur, receive them, and we
will continue our conversation later—the denouement of
this comedy has already taken place, and cannot be
changed."
And with these words, Dubois bowed with the mock
respect which he generally assumed whenever, in the
eternal game they played against each other, he held the
best cards.
Nothing made the regent so uneasy as this simulated re-
spect; he held him back,—
" What is there now?" asked he; "what have you dis-
covered ?"
" That you are a skilful dissimulator, peste !"
" That astonishes you ?"
"No, it troubles me; a few steps further, and you will do
wonders in this art—you will have no further need of me;
you will have to send me away to educate your son, whom,
it must be confessed, requires a master like myself."
"Speak quickly."
" Certainly, monseigneur; it is not now, however, a ques-
tion of your son, but of your daughter."
" Of which daughter ?"
" Ah ! true; there are so many. Firstly, the Abbess of
Chelles, then Madame de Berry, then Mademoiselle de
Valois ; then the others, too young for the world, and there-
fore for me, to speak of; then, lastly, the charming Bretagne
flower, the wild blossom which was to be kept away from
Dubois' poisoning breath, for fear it should wither under it."
" Do you dare to say I was wrong ?"
" Not so, monseigneur: you have done wonders; not
wishing to have anything to do with the infamous Dubois,
for which I commend you, you—the Archbishop of Cambray
being dead—have taken in his place the good, the worthy,
the pure Noce, and have borrowed his house."
" Ah !" said the regent, " you know that ?"
" And what a house ! Pure as its master—yes, mon-
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC.
seigneur, you are full of prudence and wisdom. Let us con-
ceal the corruptions of the world from this innocent child,
let us remove from her everything that can destroy her pri-
mitive naivete; this is why we choose this dwelling for her
—a moral sanctuary, where the priestesses of virtue, and
doubtless always under pretext of their ingenuousness, take
the most ingenuous but least permitted of positions."
" Noce told me that all was proper,"
" Do you know the house, monseigneur ?"
" Do I look at such things ?""
" Ah ! no; your sight is not good, I remember."
" Dubois !;'
" For furniture your daughter will have strange couches,
magic sofas; and as to books, ah ! that is the climax.
Noce's books are good for the instruction and formation of
youth; they would do well to go with the breviary of Bussy-
Rabutin, of which I presented you -a copy on your twelfth
birthday."
" Yes ; serpent .that you are."
"In short, the most austere prudery prevails over the
dwelling. I had chosen it for the education of the son; but
monseigneur, who looks at things differently, chose it for the
daughter.'
"Ah, ga ! Dubois," said the regent, "you weary me."
" I am just at the end, monseigneur. No doubt, your
daughter was well pleased with the residence; for, like all of
your blood, she is very intelligent."
The regent shuddered, and guessed that some disagreeable
news was hidden under the long preamble and mocking
smile of Dubois.
" However, monseigneur, see what the spirit of contra-
diction will do; she was not content with the dwelling you
chose for her, and she is moving."
" What do you mean ?"
"I am wrong—she has moved."
" My daughter gone !" cried the regent.
" Exactly," said Dubois.
" How?"
" Through the door. Oh, she is not one of those young
ladies who go through the windows, or by night—oh, she is
142 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
of your blood, monseigneur; if I had ever doubted it, 1
should be convinced now."
" And Madame Desroches ?"
" She is at the Palais-Royal, I have just left her; she
came to announce it to your highness."
" Could she not prevent it ?"
" Mademoiselle commanded."
" She should have made the servants close the doors : they
did not know that she was my daughter, and had no reason
to obey her."
" Madame Desroches was afraid of mademoiselle's anger,
but the servants were afraid of the sword."
" Of the sword ! are you drunk, Dubois ?"
" Oh, I am very likely to get drunk on chicory water ! No,
monseigneur; if I am drunk, it is with admiration of your
highness's perspicacity when you try to conduct an affair all
alone."
" But what sword do you mean ?"
" The sword which Mademoiselle Helene disposes of, and
which belongs to a charming young man "
" Dubois !"
" Who loves her !"
" Dubois ! you will drive me mad."
"And who followed her from Nantes to Rambouillet with
infinite gallantry."
" Monsieur de Livry ?"
" Ah ! you know his name; then I am telling you nothing
new, monseigneur."
" Dubois, I am overwhelmed."
"Not without sufficient cause, monseigneur; but see
what is the result of your managing your own affairs,
while you have at the same time to look after those of
France."
"But where is she?"
" Ah ! where indeed—how should I know ?"
" Dubois, you have told me of her flight—I look to you
to discover her retreat. Dubois, my dear Dubois, for God's
sake find my daughter !"
" Ah! monseigneur, you are exactly like the father in
Molibre, and I am like Scapin,—* My good Scapin, my dear
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU EAC. 143
Scapin, find me my daughter.' Monseigneur, I am sorry for
it, but Geroute could say no more j however, we will look
for your daughter, and rescue her from the ravisher."
" Well, find her, Dubois, and ask for what you please when
you have done so."
"Ah, that is something like speaking."
The regent had thrown himself back in an arm-chair,
and leant his head upon his hands. Dubois left him to his
grief, congratulating himself that this affection would double
his empire over the duke. All at once, while Dubois was
watching him with a malicious smile, some one tapped at
the door.
" Who is there ?" asked Dubois.
" Monseigneur," said an usher's voice at the door,
"there is in the carriage which brought the chevalier a
young woman who wishes to know if he is coming down
soon."
Dubois made a bound towards the door, but he was
too late; the regent, to whom the usher's words had
recalled the solemn promise he had made to Gaston, rose at
once.
" Where are you going, monseigneur ?" asked Dubois.
"To receive this young girl."
"That is my affair, not yours—you forget that you
abandoned this conspiracy to me."
" I gave up the chevalier to you, but I promised him to
be a father to this girl whom he loves. I have pledged my
word, and I will keep it; since through me she loses her
lover, I must at least console her."
" I undertake it," said Dubois, trying to hide his paleness
and agitation under one of his own peculiar smiles.
" Hold your tongue, and remain here," said the regent.
" Let me at least speak to her, monseigneur."
" I will speak to her myself—this is no affair of yours; I
have taken it upon myself, have given my word as a gentle-
man. Silence, and remain here."
Dubois ground his teeth; but when the regent spoke in
this tone, he knew he must obey : he leant against the
chimney-piece and waited.
Soon the rustling of a silk dress was heard.
144
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Yes, madame," said the usher, " this way.''
"Here she is," said the duke, "remember one thing,
Dubois : this young girl is in no way responsible for her
lover's fault; consequently, understand me, she must be
treated with the greatest respectthen, turning to the door,
" Enter," said he ; the door was hastily opened, the young
girl made a step towards the regent, who started back
thunder-struck.
" My daughter!" murmured he, endeavouring to regain
his self-command, while Helene, after looking round for
Gaston, stopped and curtseyed.
Dubois' face would not be easy to depict.
" Pardon me, monseigneur," said Helene, " perhaps I am
mistaken. I am seeking a friend who left me below, who
was to come back to me; but, as he delayed so long, I came
to seek for him. I was brought here, but perhaps the usher
made a mistake."
" No, mademoiselle," said the duke, "M. de Chanlay has
just left me, and I expected you."
As the regent spoke, the young girl became abstracted,
and seemed as though taxing her memory; then, in answer
to her own thoughts, she cried—■
" Mon Dieu ! how strange."
" What is the matter ?" asked the regent.
"Yes: that it is."
" Explain !" said the duke, " I do not understand
you."
"Ah! monsieur," said Helene, trembling, "it is strange
how your voice resembles that of another person."
" Of your acquaintance ?" asked the regent.
" Of a person in whose presence I have been but once,
but whose accents live in my heart."
"And who was this person?" asked the regent, while
Dubois shrugged his shoulders at this half recognition.
" He called himself my father," replied Helene.
" I congratulate myself upon this chance, mademoiselle,"
said the regent, " for this similarity in my voice to that of a
person who is dear to you may give greater weight to my
words. You know that Monsieur de Chanlay has chosen
me for your protector ?"
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC. 145
" He told me he would bring me to some one who would
protect me from the danger "
" What danger ?" asked the regent.
Helene looked round her, and her glance rested uneasily
on Dubois, and there was no mistaking her expression.
Dubois' face inspired her with as much distrust as the
regent's did with confidence.
" Monseigneur," said Dubois (who did not fail to notice
this expression), in an undertone to the regent, " I think I
am, de trop here, and had better retire ; you- do not want me,
do you ?"
"No; but I shall presently; do not go away."
" I will be at your orders."
This conversation was too low for Helene to hear; be-
sides, she had stepped back, and continued watching the
doors, in the hopes of seeing Gaston return.
It was a consolation to Dubois to know she would be
disappointed.
When Dubois was gone, they breathed more freely.
" Seat yourself, mademoiselle," said the duke ; " I have
much to tell you."
" Monsieur, one thing before all. Is the Chevalier Gaston
de Chanlay in any danger ?"
" We will speak of him directly, but first of yourself; he
brought you to me as a protector. Now, tell me against
whom I am to protect you ?"
" All that has happened to me for some days is so strange,
that I do not know whom to fear or whom to trust. If Gaston
were there "
"Yes, I understand; if he authorised you to tell me, you
would keep nothing back. But if I can prove to you that
I know nearly all concerning you ?"
"You, monsieur !"
"Yes, I; are you not called Helene de Chaverny?
Were you not brought up in the Augustine convent be-
tween Nantes and Clisson? Did you not one day receive
an order to leave the convent from a mysterious protector
who watches over you ? Did you not travel with one of
the sisters, to whom you gave a hundred louis for her
trouble ? At Rambouillet, did not a person called Madame
10
146 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
Desroches await you ? Did she not announce to you
a visit from your father ? The same evening, did not some
one arrive who loved you, and who thought you loved
him ?"
" Yes, yes, monsieur, it is all true," said Helene, as-
tonished that a stranger should thus know the details of her
history.
" Then the next day," continued the regent, " did not
Monsieur de Chanlay, who followed you under the name of
De Livry, pay you a visit, which was vainly opposed by
Madame Desroches ?"
"You are right, monsieur, and I see that Gaston has told
you all."
" Then came the order to leave for Paris. You would have
opposed it, but were forced to obey. You were taken to a
house in the Faubourg St. Antoine ; but there your captivity
became insupportable."
"You are mistaken, monsieur; it was not the captivity, but
the prison."
" I do not understand you."
" Did not Gaston tell you of his fears, which I laughed at
at first, but shared afterwards?"
" No, tell me what did you fear?"
"But if he did not tell you, how shall 12"
" Is there anything one cannot tell to a friend ?"
"Did be not tell you that this man whom I at first
believed to be my father ?"
" Believed !"
"Yes; I swear it, monsieur. Hearing his voice, feeling
my hand pressed by his, I had at first no doubt, and it
almost needed evidence to bring fear instead of the filial love
with which he at first inspired me."
" I do not understand you, mademoiselle; how could you
fear a man who—to judge by what you tell me—had so
much affection for you ?"
"You do not understand, monsieur; as you say, under a
frivolous pretext, I was removed from Rambouillet to Paris,
shut in a house in the Faubourg Saint Antoine, which spoke
more clearly to my eyes than Gaston's fears had done. Then
I thought myself lost—and that this feigned tenderness of a
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC.
father concealed the wiles of a seducer. I had no friend but
Gaston—I wrote to him—he came."
" Then," said the regent, filled with joy, " when you left
that house it was to escape those wiles, not to follow your
lover ?"
" Oh, monsieur, if I had believed in that father whom I
had seen but once, and then surrounded by mysteries, I
swear to you that nothing would have led me from the path
of duty."
" Oh, dear child !" cried the duke, with an accent which
made Helene start.
" Then Gaston spoke to me of a person who could refuse
him nothing—who would watch over me and be a father to
me. He brought me here, saying he would return to me.
I waited in vain for more than an hour, and at length, fear-
ing some accident had happened to him, I asked for you."
The regent's brow became clouded.
" Thus," said he, " it was Gaston's influence that turned
you from your duty—his fears aroused yours ?"
"Yes ; he suspected the mystery which encircled me, and
feared that it concealed some fatal project."
" But he must have given you some proof to persuade
you."
" What proof was needed in that abominable house ?
Would a father have placed his daughter in such a habita-
tion ?"
" Yes, yes," murmured the regent, " he was wrong; but
confess that without the chevalier's suggestions, you, in
the innocence of your soul, would have had no sus-
picion."
"No," said Helene, "but happily Gaston watched over
me."
" Do you then believe that all Gaston said to you was
true ?" asked the regent.
" We easily side with those we love, monsieur."
" And you love the chevalier ?"
" Yes ; for the last two years, monsieur."
" But how could he see you in the convent ?"
" By night, with the aid of a boat."
" And did he see you often ?"
10—2
148
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" Every week."
" Then you love him ?"
"Yes, monsieur."
" But how could you dispose of your heart, knowing that
you were not your own mistress ?"
" For sixteen years I had heard nothing of my family;
how could I suppose that all at once it would reveal itself, or
rather, that an odious manoeuvre should take me from my
quiet retreat to my ruin ?"
" Then you still think that that man lied, when he called
himself your father ?"
" I scarcely know what to think, and my mind becomes
bewildered in contemplating this strange reality, which
seems so like a dream."
" But you should not consult your mind here, Helene,"
said the regent; " you should consult your heart. When
you were with this man, did not your heart speak to
you ?"
" Oh!" said Helene, " while he was there I was con-
vinced, for I have never felt emotion such as I felt
then."
"Yes," replied the regent, bitterly; "but when he was
gone, this emotion disappeared, driven away by stronger
influence. It is very simple, this man was only your father;
Gaston was your lover."
" Monsieur," said Helene, drawing back, " you speak
strangely."
" Pardon me," replied the regent, in a sweet voice; " I
see that I allowed myself to be carried away by my interest.
But what surprises me more than all, mademoiselle," con-
tinued he, "is that, being beloved as you are by Gaston, you
could not induce him to abandon his projects."
" His projects, monsieur ! what do you mean ?"
" What! you do not know the object of his visit to
Paris ?"
" I do not, monsieur. When I told him, with tears in my
eyes, that I was forced to leave Clisson, he said he must also
leave Nantes. When I told him that I was coming to Paris,
he answered, with a cry of joy, that he was about to set out
for the same place."
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC.
" Then," cried the regent, his heart freed from an enor-
mous load, " you are not his accomplice ?"
" His accomplice !" cried Helene, alarmed; " ah, mon
Dieu ! what does this mean ?"
"Nothing," said the regent, "nothing."
" Oh, yes, monsieur ; you have used a word which explains
all. I wondered what made so great a change in Gaston.
Why, for the last year, whenever I spoke of our future,
his brow became dark. Why, with so sad a smile, he said
to me, ' Helene, no one is sure of the morrow.' Why he
fell into such reveries, as though some misfortune threat-
ened him. That misfortune you have shown me, monsieur.
Gaston saw none but malcontents there—Montlouis, Pont-
calec. Ah ! Gaston is conspiring—that is why he came to
Paris."
" Then you knew nothing of this conspiracy ?"
" Alas, monsieur ! I am but a woman, and, doubtless,
Gaston did not think me worthy to share such a secret."
"So much the better," cried the regent; "and now, my
child, listen to the voice of a friend, of a man who might be
your father. Let the chevalier go on the path he has chosen,
since you have still the power to go no further."
"Who? I, monsieur !" cried Helene; " I abandon him at
a moment when you yourself tell me that a danger threatens
him that I had not known ! Oh, no, no, monsieur ! We
two are alone in the world, we have but each other : Gaston
has no parents, I have none either; or if I have, they have
been separated from me for sixteen years, and are accus-
tomed to my absence. We may, then, lose ourselves together
without costing any one a tear—oh, I deceived you, mon-
sieur, and whatever crime he has committed, or may commit,
I am his accomplice."
" Ah !" murmured the regent, in a choking voice, " my
last hope fails me ; she loves him."
Helene turned, with astonishment, towards the stranger
who took so lively an interest in her sorrow. The regent
composed himself.
" But," continued he, " did you not almost renounce him?
Did you not tell him, the day you separated, that you could
not dispose of your heart and person ?"
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER,
" Yes, I told him so," replied the young girl, with exalta-
tion, " because at that time I believed him happy, because I
did not know that his liberty, perhaps his life, were compro-
mised; then, my heart would have suffered, but my con-
science would have remained tranquil; it was a grief to bear,
not a remorse to combat; but since I know him threatened,
—unhappy—I feel that his life is mine."
"But you exaggerate your love for him,5' replied the regent,
determined to ascertain his daughter's feelings. " This love
would yield to absence."
" It would yield to nothing, monsieur ; in the isolation in
which my parents left me, this love has become my only
hope, my happiness, my life. Ah ! monsieur, if you have
any influence with him—and you must have, since he con-
fides to you the secrets which he keeps from me—in heaven's
name, induce him to renounce these projects, of which you
speak; tell him what I dare not tell him myself, that I love
him beyond all expression ; tell him that his fate shall be
mine; that if he be exiled, I exile myself; if he be imprisoned,
I will be so too ; and that if he dies, I die. Tell him that,
monsieur ; and add—add that you saw, by my tears and by
my despair, that I spoke the truth."
" Unhappy child !" murmured the regent.
Indeed, Helene's situation was a pitiable one. By the
paleness of her cheeks, it was evident that she suffered
cruelly ; while she spoke, her tears flowed ceaselessly, and it
was easy to see that every word came from her heart, and
that what she had said she would do.
" Well," said the regent, " I promise you that I will do all
I can to save the chevalier."
Helene was about to throw herself at the duke's feet, so
humbled was this proud spirit by the thought of Gaston's
danger; but the regent received her in his arms. Helene
trembled through her whole frame—there was something
in the contact with this man which filled her with hope and
joy. She remained leaning on his arm, and made no effort
to raise herself.
" Mademoiselle," said the regent, watching her with an
expression which would certainly have betrayed him if
Helene had raised her eyes to his face, " Mademoiselle, the
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC. 151
most pressing affair first—I have told you that Gaston is in
danger, but not in immediate danger; let us then first think
cf yourself, whose position is both false and precarious. You
are entrusted to my care, and I must, before all else, acquit
myself worthily of this charge. Do you trust me, made-
moiselle ?"
" Oh, yes ; Gaston brought me to you."
" Always Gaston," sighed the regent, in an undertone;
then to Helene he said :
" You will reside in this house, which is unknown, and
here you will be free. Your society will consist of excellent
books, and my presence will not be wanting, if it be agree-
able to you."
Helene made a movement as if to speak.
" Besides," continued the duke, " it will give you an oppor-
tunity to speak of the chevalier."
Helene blushed, and the regent continued :
" The church of the neighbouring convent will be open to
you, and should you have the slightest fear, such as you have
already experienced, the convent itself might shelter you—the
superior is a friend of mine."
" Ah, monsieur," said Helene, " you quite reassure me ; I
accept the house you offer me—and your great kindness to
Gaston and myself will ever render your presence agreeable
to me."
The regent bowed.
"Then, mademoiselle," said he, "consider yourself at
home here; I think there is a sleeping-room adjoining
this room—the arrangement of the ground-floor is com-
modious, and this evening I will send you two nuns from
the convent, whom, doubtless, you would prefer to servants,
to wait on you."
" Ah, yes, monsieur."
" Then," continued the regent, with hesitation, " then you
have almost renounced your—father ?"
" Ah, monsieur, do you not understand that it is for fear
he should not be my father."
" However," replied the regent, " nothing proves it; that
house alone is certainly an argument against him; but he
might not have known it."
152
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Oh," said Helene, "that is almost impossible."
" However, if he took any farther steps, if he should dis-
cover your retreat and claim you, or at least ask to see
you ?"
" Monsieur, we would inform Gaston, and learn his
opinion."
" It is well," said the regent, with a smile ; and he held out
his hand to Helene, and then moved towards the door.
" Monsieur," said Helene, in a scarcely audible voice.
" Do you wish for anything ?" asked the duke, re-
turning.
"Can I see him?"
The words seemed to die away on her lips as she pro-
nounced them.
" Yes," said the duke, " but is it not better for your sake
to do so as little as possible ?"
Helene lowered her eyes.
" Besides," said the dulce, " he has gone on a journey, and
may not be back for some days."
"And shall I see him on his return."
" I swear it to you."
Ten minutes after, two nuns and a lay sister entered and
installed themselves in the house.
When the regent quitted his daughter, he asked for Dubois,
but he was told that, after waiting half an hour, Dubois had
returned to the Palais-Royal.
The duke, on entering the abbe's room, found him at
work with his secretaries; a portfolio full of papers was on
the table.
" I beg a thousand pardons," said Dubois, on seeing the
duke, "but as you delayed, and your conference was likely
to be prolonged greatly, I took the liberty of trangressing your
orders, and returning here."
"You did rightly; but I want to speak to you."
"To me ?"
" Yes, to you."
" To me alone ?"
" Alone."
"In that case, will monseigneur go into my cabinet, or into
your own room ?"
WHAT PASSED LV THE DUE DU BAC.
*53
" Let us go into your cabinet."
The abbe made a respectful bow and opened the door—
the regent passed in first, and Dubois followed when he
had replaced the portfolio under his arm. These papers
had probably been got together in expectation of this visit.
When they were in the cabinet, the duke looked round
him.
" The place is safe ?" asked he.
" Pardieu, each door is double, and the walls are two feet
thick."
The regent sat down and fell into a deep reverie.
" I am waiting, monseigneur," said Dubois, in a few
minutes.
" Abbe," said the regent, in a quick decided tone, as of a
man determined to be answered, " is the chevalier in the
Bastille ?"
" Monseigneur," replied Dubois, "he must have been there
about half an hour."
" Then write to M. Delaunay. I desire that he be set free
at once."
Dubois did not seem surprised ; he made no reply, but he
placed the portfolio on the table, opened it, took out some
papers, and began to look over them quietly.
" Did you hear me ?" asked the regent, after a moment's
silence.
" I did, monseigneur."
" Obey, then."
" Write yourself, monseigneur, said Dubois.
"And why?"
" Because nothing shall induce this hand to sign your high-
ness's ruin," said Dubois.
" More words," said the regent, impatiently.
" Not words, but facts, monseigneur. Is M. de Chanlay a
conspirator, or is he not ?"
"Yes, certainly ! but my daughter loves him."
"A fine reason for setting him at liberty."
" It may not be a reason to you, abbe, but to me it is, and
a most sacred one. He shall leave the Bastille at once."
"Go and fetch him, then; I do not prevent you."
" And did you know this secret ?"
*54
THE REGENT*S DAUGHTER.
" Which ?"
" That M. de Livry and the chevalier were the same ?"
" Yes, I knew it. What, then ?"
" You wished to deceive me."
" I wished to save you from the sentimentality in which
you are lost at this moment. The Regent of France—
already too much occupied by whims and pleasures—must
make things worse by adding passion to the list. And what
a passion ! Paternal love, dangerous love — an ordinary
love may be satisfied, and then dies away—but a father's
tenderness is insatiable, and above all, intolerable. It will
cause your highness to commit faults which I shall prevent,
for the simple reason that I am happy enough not to be a
father; a thing on which I congratulate myself daily, when I
see the misfortunes and stupidity of those who are."
" And what matters a head more or less ?" cried the regent.
" This De Chanlay will not kill me, when he knows it was I
who liberated him."
" No; neither will he die from a few days in the Bastille;
and there he must stay."
" And I tell you he shall leave it to-day."
" He must, for his own honour," said Dubois, as though
the regent had not spoken; " for if he were to leave the
Bastille to-day, as you wish, he would appear to his accom-
plices, who are now in the prison at Nantes, and whom I
suppose you do not wish to liberate also, as a traitor and
spy who has been pardoned for the information he has
given."
The regent reflected.
"You are all alike," pursued Dubois, " you kings and reign-
ing princes; a reason stupid enough, like all reasons of
honour, such as I have just given, closes your mouth; but
you will never understand true and important reasons of
state. What does it matter to me or to France that Made-
moiselle Helene de Chaverny, natural daughter of the regent,
should weep for her lover, Monsieur Gaston de Chanlay? Ten
thousand wives, ten thousand mothers, ten thousand daughters,
may weep in one year for their sons, their husbands, their
fathers, killed in your bighness's service by the Spaniard who
threatens you, who takes your gentleness for weakness, and
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC.
*55
who becomes emboldened by impunity. We know the plot;
let us do it justice. M. de Chanlay—chief or agent of this
plot, coming to Paris to assassinate you—do not deny it, no
doubt he told you so himself—is the lover of your daughter;
so much the worse—it is a misfortune which falls upon you,
but may have fallen upon you before, and will again. I knew
it all. I knew that he was beloved; I knew that he was
called De Chanlay, and not De Livry; yes, I dissimulated,
but it was to punish him exemplarily with his accomplices,
because it must be understood that the regent's head is not
one of those targets which any one may aim at through
excitement or ennui, and go away unpunished if they
fail."
" Dubois, Dubois, I shall never sacrifice my daughter's life
to save my own, and I should kill her in executing the cheva-
lier; therefore no prison, no dungeon; let us spare the
shadow of torture to him whom we cannot treat with entire
justice; let us pardon completely ; no half pardon, any more
than half justice."
" Ah, yes; pardon, pardon; there it is at last; are you
not tired of that word, monseigneur; are you not weary of
harping eternally on one string ?"
" This time, at least, it is a different thing, for it is not
generosity. I call heaven to witness that I should like to
punish this man, who is more beloved as a lover than I as
a father ; and who takes from me my last and only daughter;
but, in spite of myself, I stop, I can go no farther; Chanlay
shall be set free."
" Chanlay shall be set free; yes, monseigneur; mon
Dieu ! who opposes it ? Only it must be later, some days
hence. What harm shall we do him ? Diable ! he will not
die of a week in the Bastille ; you shall have your son-in-
law; be at peace; but do act so that our poor little
government shall not be too much ridiculed. Remember
that at this moment the affairs of the others are being
looked into, and somewhat roughly too. Well, these others
have also mistresses, wives, mothers. Do you busy yourself
with them ? No, you are not so mad. Think, then, of the
ridicule if it were known that your daughter loved the man
who was to stab you; the bastards would laugh for a month;
156
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
it is enough to revive La Maintenon, who is dying, and
make her live a year longer. Have patience, monseigneur;
let the chevalier eat chicken and drink wine with Delaunay.
Pardieu ! Richelieu does very well there; he is loved by
another of your daughters, which did not prevent you from
putting him in the Bastille."
" But," said the regent, " when he is in the Bastille, what
will you do with him ?"
" Oh, he only serves this little apprenticeship to make
him your son-in-law. But, seriously, monseigneur, do you
think of raising him to that honour ?"
" Oh, mon Dieu ! at this moment I think of nothing,
Dubois, but that I do not want to make my poor Helene
unhappy; and yet I really think that giving him to her
as a husband is somewhat derogatory, though the De
Chanlays are a good family."
" Do you know them, monseigneur ? Parbleu ! it only
wanted that."
" I heard the name long ago, but I cannot remember on
what occasion; we shall see; but, meanwhile, whatever
you may say, one thing I have decided—he must not
appear as a traitor; and remember, I will not have him mal-
treated."
"In that case he is well off with M. Delaunay. But
you do not know the Bastille, monseigneur. If you had
ever tried it, you would not want a country house. Under
the late king it was a prison—oh yes, I grant that, but
under the gentle reign of Philippe d'Orleans, it is a house
of pleasure. Besides, at this moment, there is an excellent
company there. There are fetes, balls, vocal concerts;
they drink champagne to the health of the Due du Maine
and the King of Spain. It is you who pay, but they wish
aloud that you may die, and your race become extinct.
Pardieu ! Monsieur de Chanlay will find some acquaint-
ances there, and be as comfortable as a fish in the water.
Ah, pity him, monseigneur, for he is much to be pitied, poor
fellow!"
" Yes, yes," cried the duke, delighted : " and after the
revelations in Bretagne we shall see."
Dubois laughed.
WHAT PASSED IN THE RUE DU BAC.
"The revelations in Bretagne. Ah, pardieu! monseigneur,
I shall be anxious to know what you will learn that the
chevalier did not tell you. Do you not know enough yet,
monseigneur ? Peste ! if it were me, I should know too
much."
" But it is not you, abbe."
" Alas, unfortunately not, monseigneur, for if I were the
Due d'Orleans and regent, I would make myself cardinal.
But do not let us speak of that, it will come in time, I
hope; besides, I have found a way of managing the affair
which troubles you."
" I distrust you, abbe. I warn you."
" Stay, monseigneur; you only love the chevalier because
your daughter does ?"
"Well ?"
" But if the chevalier repaid her fidelity by ingratitude.
Mon Dieu ! the young woman is proud, monseigneur; she
herself would give him up. That would be well played, I
think."
" The chevalier cease to love Helene ! impossible ; she is
an angel."
"Many angels have gone through that, monseigneur;
besides, the Bastille does and undoes many things, and one
soon becomes corrupted there, especially in the society he
will find there."
" Well, we shall see, but not a step without my con-
sent."
"Fear nothing, monseigneur; and now will you examine
the papers from Nantes ?"
" Yes, but first send me Madame Desroches."
" Certainly."
Dubois rang and gave the regent's orders.
Ten minutes after Madame Desroches entered timidly;
but instead of the storm she had expected, she received a
smile and a hundred louis.
" I do not understand it," thought she; " after all, the
young girl cannot be his daughter."
158
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XXII.
in bretagne.
Our readers must now permit us to look backwards, for
we have (in following the principal persons of our history)
neglected some others in Bretagne, who deserve some
notice; besides, if we do not represent them as taking an
active part in this tale, history is ready with her inflexible
voice to contradict us ; we must, therefore, for the present,
submit to the exigencies of history.
Bretagne had, from the first, taken an active part in the
movement of the legitimated bastards ; this province, which
had given pledges of fidelity to monarchical principles, and
pushed them to exaggeration, if not to madness, since it
preferred the adulterous offspring of a king to the interests
of a kingdom, and since its love became a crime by calling
in aid of the pretentions of those whom it recognised as its
princes, enemies against whom Louis XIV. for sixty years,
and France for two centuries, had waged a war of extermi-
nation.
We have seen the list of the principal names which
constituted this revolt; the regent had wittily said that
it contained the head and tail; but he was mistaken—it
was the head and body. The head was the council of the
legitimated princes, the King of Spain, and his imbecile
agent, the Prince of Cellamare; the body was formed by
those brave and clever men who were now in the Bastille;
but the tail was now agitating in Bretagne amongst a people
unaccustomed to the ways of a court, and it was a tail armed
with stings like those of a scorpion, and which was the most
to be feared.
IN BRETAGNE.
159
The Bretagne chiefs, then, renewed the Chevalier de
Rohan, under Louis XIV.; we say the Chevalier de Rohan,
because to every conspiracy must be given the name of a
chief.
Along with the prince, who was a conceited and common-
place man, and even before him, were two men, stronger
than he; one in thought and the other in execution. These
two men were Letreaumont, a Norman gentleman, and
Affinius Vanden-Enden, a Dutch philosopher; Letreaumont
wanted money, he was the arm ; Affinius wanted a republic,
he was the soul. This republic, moreover, he wanted
enclosed in Louis XIV.'s kingdom, still further to annoy the
great king—who hated republicans even at a distance—who
had persecuted and destroyed the Pensioner of Holland,
John de Witt, more cruel in this than the Prince of Orange,
who, in declaring himself De Witt's enemy, revenged personal
injuries, while Louis XIV. had received nothing but friend-
ship and devotion from this great man.
Now Affinius wanted a republic in Normandy, and got
the Chevalier de Rohan named Protector; the Bretons
wished to revenge themselves for certain injuries their
province had received under the regency, and they decreed
it a republic, with the power of choosing a protector, even
were he a Spaniard; but Monsieur du Maine had a good
chance.
This is what passed in Bretagne.
The Bretons lent an ear to the first overtures of the
Spaniards; they had no more cause for discontent than
other provinces, but to them it seemed a capital opportunity
for war, and they had no other aim. Richelieu had ruled
them severely; they thought to emancipate themselves
under Dubois, and they began by objecting to the admini-
strators sent by the regent; a revolution always commences
by a riot.
Montesquieu was appointed viceroy to hold assemblies,
to hear the people's complaints, and to collect their money.
The people complained plentifully, but would not pay,
because they did not like the steward; this appeared a
bad reason to Montesquieu, who was a man of the old
regime.
160 THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
"You cannot offer these complaints to his majesty," said
he, " without appearing to rebel: pay first, and complain
afterwards; the king will listen to your sorrows, but not to
your antipathies to a man honoured by his choice;"
Monsieur de Montaran, of whom the Bretons complained,
gave no offence; but, in being intendant of the province,
any other would have been as much disliked, and they per-
sisted in their refusal to pay.
" Monsieur le Marechal," said their deputies, " your lan-
guage might suit a general treating with a conquered place,
but cannot be accepted by free and privileged men. We
are neither enemies nor soldiers—we are citizens and
masters at home. In compensation of a service which we
ask, namely—that Monsieur de Montaran, whom we dis-
like, should be removed, we will pay the tax demanded;
but if the court takes to itself the highest prize, we will
keep our money, and bear as we best can the treasurer
who displeases us."
Monsieur de Montesquieu, with a contemptuous smile,
turned on his heel—the deputies did the same, and both
retired with their original dignity.
But the marshal was willing to wait; he behaved him-
self as an able diplomatist, and thought that private reunions
would set all right; but the Breton nobles were proud—in-
dignant at their treatment, they appeared no more at the
marshal's reception; and he, from contempt, changed to
angry and foolish resolves. This was what the Spaniards
had expected. Montesquieu, corresponding with the autho-
rities at Nantes, Quimper, Vannes, and Rennes, wrote
that he had to deal with rebels and mutineers, but that
ten thousand of his soldiers should teach the Bretons
politeness.
The states were held again; from the nobility to the
people in Bretagne is but a step; a spark lights the whole;
the citizens declared to M. de Montesquieu that if he had
ten thousand men, Bretagne had a hundred thousand, who
would teach his soldiers, with stones, forks and muskets,
that they had better mind their own business, and that
only.
The marshal assured himself of the truth of this assertion)
JN BRETAGNE.
161
and was quiet, leaving things as they were for a while; the
nobility then made a formal and moderate complaint; but
Dubois and the council of the regency treated it as a hostile
manifesto, and used it as an instrument.
Montaran, Montesquieu, Pontcalec and Talhouetwere the
men really fighting amongst themselves. Pontcalec, a man of
mind and power, joined the malcontents and encouraged the
growth of the struggle.
There was no drawing back; the court, however, only
saw the revolt, and did not suspect the Spanish affair. The
Bretons, who were secretly undermining the regency, cried
aloud, " No impost, no Montaran," to draw away suspicion
from their anti-patriotic plots—but the event turned out
against them. • The regent—a skilful politician—guessed the
plot without perceiving it; he thought that this local veil
hid some other phantom, and he tore off the veil. He with-
drew Montaran, and then the conspirators were unmasked;
all the others were content and quiet, they alone remained
in arms.
Then Pontcalec and his friends formed the plot we are
acquainted with, and used violent means to attain their
ends.
Spain was watching; Alberoni, beaten by Dubois in the
affair of Cellamare, waited his revenge, and all the treasures
prepared for the plot of Paris were now sent to Bretagne;
but it was late—he did not believe it, and his agents de-
ceived him; he thought it was possible to recommence the
war, but then France made war on Spain. He thought it
possible to kill the regent ; but he, and not Chanlay, should
do what no one would then recommend to the most cruel
enemy of France. Alberoni reckoned on the arrival of a
Spanish vessel full of arms and money, and this ship did not
arrive; he waited for news of Chanlay ; it was La Jonquiere
who wrote—and what a La Jonquiere !
One evening Pontcalec and his friends had met in a little
room near the old castle; their countenances were sad and
irresolute—Du Couedic announced that he had received a
note recommending them to take flight.
" I have a similar one to show you," said Montlouis; " it
ii
162
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
was slid under my glass at table, and my wife, who expected
nothing, was frightened."
" I neither expect nor fear anything," said Talhouet; " the
province is calm, the news from Paris is good; every day
the regent liberates some one of those imprisoned for the
Spanish affair."
" And I, gentlemen," said Pontcalec, " must tell you of a
strange communication I have received to-day. Show me
your note, Du Couedic, and you yours, Montlouis; perhaps
it is the same writing, and is a snare for us."
" I do not think so, for if they wish us to leave this, it is
to escape some danger; we have nothing to fear for our
reputation, for that is not at stake. The affairs of Bretagne
are known to the world: your brother Talhouet, and
your cousin have fled to Spain : Solduc, Rohan, Sanbilly
the counsellor, have all disappeared, yet their flight was
suppposed to be natural, and from some simple cause of
discontent. * I confess, if the advice be repeated, I shall
fly."
"We have nothing to fear, my friends," said Pontcalec,
" our affairs were never more prosperous. See, the court
has no suspicion, or we should have been molested already.
La Jonquiere wrote yesterday; he announces that De
Chanlay is starting for La Muette, where the regent lives as
a private gentleman, without guards, without fear."
" Yet you are uneasy," said Du Couedic.
"I confess it, but not for the reason you suppose."
" What is it, then ?"
"A personal matter."
" Of your own !"
"Yes, and I could not confide it to more devoted friends,
or any who know me better. If ever I were molested—if
ever I had the alternative of remaining or of flying to escape
a danger, I should remain; do you know why ?"
" No, speak."
" I am afraid."
' You, Pontcalec ?—afraid ! What do you mean by these
words, after those you have just uttered ?"
" Mon Dieu! yes,my friend; the ocean isour safeguard; we
could find safety on board one of those vessels which cruise
IN BRETAGNE.
on the Loire from Paimbosuf to Saint Nazaire ; but what is
safety to you is certain death to me."
" I do not understand you," said Talhouet.
"You alarm me," said Montlouis.
" Listen, then, my friends," said Pontcalec.
And he began, in the midst of the most scrupulous atten-
tion, the following recital, for they knew that if Pontcalec
were afraid there must be a good cause.
164
THE REGENT'S DA UGHTER.
CHAPTER XXIII.
the sorceress of savernay.
" I was ten years old, and I lived at Pontcalec, in the midst
of woods, when one day my uncle Crysogon, my father, and
I, resolved to have a rabbit hunt in a warren at five or six
miles distance, found, seated on the heath, a woman reading.
So few of our peasants could read, that we were surprised.
We stopped and looked at her—I see her now, as though it
were yesterday, though it is nearly twenty years ago. She
wore the dark costume of our Breton women, with the usual
white head-dress, and she was seated on a large tuft of broom
in blossom, which she had been cutting.
" My father was mounted on a beautiful bay horse, with
a gold-coloured mane, my uncle on a grey horse, young
and ardent, and I rode one of those little white ponies,
which to strength and activity unite the docility of a
sheep.
" The woman looked up from her book at the group be-
fore her, and seeing me firm in my stirrups near my father,
who seemed proud of me, she rose all at once, and approach-
ing me, said—
" 'What a pity !'
" ' What do you mean ?' asked my father.
" ' It means that I do not like that white pony,' replied
the woman.
" ' And why not ?'
" ' Because he will bring misfortune to your child, Sire de
Pontcalec.'
"We Bretons are superstitious, you know; so that even
my father, who, you know, Montlouis, was an enlightened as
THE SORCERESS OF SAVERNA K
well as a brave man, stopped, in spite of my uncle Crysogon,
who urged us to proceed, and trembling at the idea of
danger to me, he added—
" 'Yet the pony is gentle, my good woman, and Clement
rides well for his age. I have often ridden the little animal
in the park, and its paces are perfect.'
" ' I do not know anything of that, Marquis de Guer,'
replied the woman, ' but the little white horse will injure your
son Clement, I tell you.'
" ' And how can you know this ?'
"'I see it,' replied she, in a strange voice.
" 'When ?' asked my father.
" 'To-day.'
< My father turned pale, and I was afraid; but my uncle
Crysogon, who had been in the Dutch wars, and had become
somewhat hardened by combating the Huguenots, laughed
till he nearly fell from his horse.
"' Parbleu !' said he, ' this good woman certainly is in
league with the rabbits at Savernay. What do you say
to it, Clement: would you like to go home and lose the
sport ?'
u 1 Uncle,' I replied, ' I would rather go on with you.'
"' You look pale and odd—are you afraid ?'
" ' I am not afraid,' said I.
" I lied, for I felt a certain shudder pass through me,
which was very like fear.
" My father has since owned to me, that if it had not been
for my uncle's words, which caused a certain false shame in
him, he would have sent me home or given my horse to one
of the servants; but what an example for a boy of my age,
who declared himself to have no fear, and what a subject for
ridicule to my uncle.
" I continued, then, to ride my pony; we reached the
warren, and the chase commenced.
" While it lasted, the pleasures made us forget the pre-
diction; but the chase over, and having started on our road
home—
" < Well, Clement,' said my uncle, ' still on your pony; you
are a brave boy.'
" My father and I both laughed; we were then crossing a
t6 6
THE REGENPS DAUGHTER.
plain as flat and even as this room—no obstacles in the way,
nothing that could frighten a horse, yet at that moment my
pony gave a bound which shook me from my seat, then he
reared violently and threw me off: my uncle laughed, but my
father became as pale as death. I did not move, and my
father leaped from his horse and came to me, and found that
my leg was broken.
"To describe my father's grief and the cries of the
grooms would be impossible; but my uncle's despair was
indescribable—kneeling by my side, removing my clothes
with a trembling hand, covering me with tears and caresses,
his every word was a fervent prayer. My father was obliged
to console him, but to all his consolations and caresses he
answered not.
" They sent for the first surgeon at Nantes, who pronounced
me in great danger. My uncle begged my mother's pardon
all day long; and we remarked that, during my illness,
he had quite changed his mode of life; instead of drink-
ing and hunting with the officers—instead of going on fishing
expeditions, of which he was so fond—he never left my
pillow.
" The fever lasted six weeks, and the illness nearly four
months; but I was saved, and retained no trace of the
accident. When I went out for the first time, my uncle gave
me his arm; but when the walk was over, he took leave of
us with tears in his eyes.
" ' Where are you going, Crysogon ?' asked my father in
astonishment.
" ' I made a vow,' replied the good man, ' that if our
child recovered, I would turn Carthusian, and I go to
fulfil it.'
" This was a new grief. My father and my mother shed
tears; I hung on my uncle's neck, and begged him not
to leave us; but the viscount was a man who never
broke a promise or a resolution. Our tears and prayers
were vain.
'•' My brother,' said he, ' I did not know that God
sometimes deigns to reveal Himself to man in acts of
mystery. I doubted, and deserve to be punished; besides, I
do not wish to lose my salvation in the pleasures of this life.'
THE SORCERESS OE SAVERNA Y.
167
" At these words the viscount embraced me again,
mounted his horse, and disappeared. He went to the
Carthusian monastery at Morlaix. Two years afterwards,
fasts, macerations, and grief had made of this bon vivant,
this joyous companion, this devoted friend, a premature
skeleton. At the end of three years he died, leaving me all
his wealth."
" Diable ! what a frightful tale," said Du Couedic; " but
the old woman forgot to tell you that breaking your leg
would double your fortune."
" Listen," said Pontcalec, more gravely than ever.
" Ah ! it is not finished," said Talhouet.
"We are only at the commencement."
"Continue, we are listening."
"You have all heard of the strange death of the Baron de
Caradec, have you not ?"
" Our old college friend at Nantes," said Montlouis, " who
was found murdered ten years ago in the forest of Chateau-
briant ?"
"Yes. Now listen; but remember that this is a secret
which till this moment has been only known to me, and
which even now must go no further than ourselves."
The three Bretons, who were deeply interested, gave the
required promises.
" Well," said Pontcalec, " this college friendship of which
Montlouis speaks had undergone some change between
Caradec and myself, on account of a rivalry. We loved the
same woman, and I was loved by her.
" One day I determined to hunt the stag in the forest of
Chateaubriant; my dogs and huntsmen had been sent out
the day before, and I was on my way to the rendezvous,
when, on the road before me, I saw an enormous faggot
walking along. This did not surprise me, for our peasants
carry such enormous faggots, that they quite disappear
under their load; but this faggot appeared from behind to
move alone. Soon it stopped; an old woman, turning
round, showed her face to me. As I approached, I could
not take my eyes off her, for I recognized the sorceress of
Savernay, who had predicted the misfortune caused by my
white pony.
168 THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
44 My first impulse, I confess, was to take another road,
and avoid the prophetess of evil; but she had already seer\
me, and she seemed to wait for me with a smile full of
malice. I was ten years older than when her first threat had
frightened me. I was ashamed to go back.
"4 Good day, Viscount de Pontcalec,' said she ; 4 how is
the Marquis de Guer ?'
"Well, good woman; and I shall be quite easy about
him, if you will assure me that nothing will happen to him
during my absence.'
" 4 Ah ! ah !' said she, laughing ; 4 you have not forgotten
the plains of Savernay. You have a good memory, viscount;
but yet, if I gave you some advice, you would not follow it
any more than the first time. Man is blind.'
44 4 And what is your advice ?'
44 4 Not to go hunting to-day.'
44 4 Why not ?'
44 4 And to return at once to Pontcalec.
44 4 1 cannot; I have a rendezvous with some friends at
Chateaubriant.'
44 4 So much the worse, viscount, for blood will be spilt.'
44 4 Mine?'
44'Yours, and another's.'
44 4 Bah ! are you mad?'
44 4 So said your uncle Crysogon. How is he?'
44 4 Do you not know that he died seven years ago at
Morlaix ?'
44 4 Poor fellow !' said the woman, 'like you, he would not
believe : at length he beheld, but it was too late.'
44I shuddered involuntarily ; but a false shame whispered
that it would be cowardly to give way, and that doubtless the
fulfilment of the pretended witch's former prediction had been
but a chance.
44 4Ah ! I see that a former experience has not made you
wiser, my fine fellow,' said she. 4 Well, go to Chateaubriant
then, since you must have it so, but at least send back that
handsome hunting-knife.'
44'And with what will monsieur cut the stag's foot?'asked
the servant who followed me.
44'With your knife,' said the old woman.
THE SORCERESS OF SA VERNA V
169
"'The stag is a royal animal,'replied the servant, 'and
deserves a hunting-knife/
'"Besides," said I, fyou said my blood would flow. What
means that ?—I shall be attacked, and if so, I shall want it
to defend myself.'
'"I do not know what it means,' replied the old woman :
'but I do know, that in your place, my brave gentleman, 1
would listen to a poor old woman, and that I would not go
to Chateaubriant ; or, if I did go, it would be without my
hunting knife '
"'Do not listen to the old witch, monsieur,' said the
servant, who was doubtless afraid to take the fatal
weapon.
"If I had been alone, I should have returned; but before
my servant I did not like to do so.
"'Thank you, my good woman,' said I, ' but really I do
not see what reason there is for not going to Chateaubriant.
As to my knife, I shall keep it; if I be attacked. I must have
a weapon to defend myself.'
"'Go, then, and defend yourself, said the old woman,
shaking her head; ' we cannot escape our destiny '
" I heard no more. I urged my horse to a gallop; but,
turning a corner, I saw that the old woman had resumed her
route, and I lost sight of her.
" An hour after I was in the forest of Chateaubriant; and
I met you, Montlouisand Talhouet, for you were both of the
party.
" It is true," said Talhouet, " and I begin to under^
stand."
" And I," said Montlouis.
" But I know nothing of it," said Du Couedic ; "so pray
continue, Pontcalec."
" Our dogs started the deer, and we set off in pursuit; but
we were not the only hunters in the forest—at a distance we
heard the sound of another pack, which gradually approached;
soon the two crossed, and some of my dogs by mistake went
after the wrong deer. I ran after them to stop them, which
separated me from you. You followed the rest of our pack;
but some one had forestalled me. I heard the howls of my
dogs under the lash of a whip; I redoubled my pace, and
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
found the Baron de Caradec striking them. I told you there
were causes of dislike between us, which only needed an
opportunity to burst out. I asked him why he struck my
dogs. His reply was haughtier than my question. We were
alone—we were both twenty years of age—we were rivals—
each was armed. We drew our knives—threw ourselves one
upon the other, and Caradec fed from his horse, pierced
through the body. To tell you what I felt when I saw him,
bleeding and writhing in agony, would be impossible; I
spurred my horse, and darted through the forest like a mad-
man.
" I heard the voices of the hunters, and I arrived, one of
the first, but I remember—do you remember it, Montlouis ?
—that you asked me why I was so pale."
" I do," said Montlouis.
44 Then I remembered the advice of the sorceress, and
reproached myself bitterly for neglecting it. This solitary
and fatal duel seemed to me like an assassination. Nantes
and its environs became insupportable to me, for every day
I heard of the murder of Caradec. It is true that no one
suspected me, but the secret voice of my conscience spoke
so loud that twenty times I was on the point of denouncing
myself.
44 Then I left Nantes and went to Paris, but not until I
had searched for the sorceress; not knowing either her name
or her residence, I could not find her.
44 It is strange," said Talhouet j 44 and have you ever seen
her since ?"
"Wait," said Pontcalec, 44and listen, for now comes the
terrible part. This winter—or rather last autumn—I say
winter, because there was snow falling, though it was only in
November—I was returning from Guer, and had ordered a
halt at Pontcalec-des-Aulnes, after a day during which I had
been shooting snipes in the marshes with two of my tenants.
We arrived, benumbed with cold, at the rendezvous, and
found a good fire and supper awaiting us.
44 As I entered, and received the salutations and compli-
ments of my people, I perceived in the chimney-corner an
old woman wrapped in a large grey-and-black cloak, who
appeared to be asleep.
THE SORCERESS OF SAVERNAY.
" ' Who is that ?' I asked of the farmer, and trembling in-
voluntarily.
" ' An old beggar, whom I do not know, and she looks
like a witch,' said he; ' but she was perishing with cold,
hunger and fatigue. She came begging ; I told her to come
in, and gave her a piece of bread, which she eat while she
warmed herself, and now she has gone to sleep.'
" The figure moved slightly in its corner.
" ' What has happened to you, Monsieur le Marquis,
asked the farmer's wife, ' that you are so wet, and that your
clothes are splashed with mud up to the shoulder ?'
" ' You nearly had to dine without me, my good Martine,
I replied, ' although this repast and this fire were prepared
for me.'
" ' Truly !' cried the good woman, alarmed.
" ' Ah ! monsieur had a narrow escape !' said the farmer.
" 'How so, my good lord ?'
" ' You know your marshes are full of bogs ; I ventured
without sounding the ground, and all at once I felt that I was
sinking in ; so that, had it not been for my gun, which I held
across, enabling your husband to come and pull me out, I
should have been smothered, which is not only a cruel but a
stupid death.'
" ' Oh, monsieur,' said the wife,' pray do not expose your-
self in this way !'
"'Let him alone,'.said the sepulchral voice of the figure
crouched in the chimney-corner; 'he will not die thus; I
foretell that.'
" And, lowering the hood of her grey -cloak, she showed
me the face of that woman who had twice crossed my path
with sad prediction.
" I remained motionless and petrified.
" 'You recognise me ?' she asked, without moving.
" I made a sign of assent, but had not really the courage
to reply. All gathered in a circle round us.
" ' No, no,' continued she ; ' be easy, Marquis de Guer ;
you will not die thus.'
" ' How do you know ?' I stammered out, with a convic-
tion, however, that she did know.
" ' I cannot tell you, for I do not know myself; but you
know well that I do not make mistakes.'
172.- THE REGENTS DAUGHTER. -
" ' And how shall I die ?' asked I, making an effort over
myself to ask this question and to listen to her reply.
" ' You will die by the sea. Beware of the water, Marquis
de Guer !' she replied.
" ' How ?' asked I. ' What do you mean ?'
" ' I have spoken, and cannot explain further, marquis;
but again I say, Hew are of the water /'
" All the peasants looked frightened; some muttered
prayers, others crossed themselves; the old woman returned
to her corner, buried herself again in her cloak, and did not
speak another syllable.
THE ARREST.
173
CHAPTER XXIV.
the arrest.
" The details of this affair may some day escape my memory,
but the impression it made will never be effaced. I had not
the shadow of a doubt; and this prediction took the aspect
of a reality, as far as I was concerned. Yes," continued
Pontcalec, " even though you should laugh, like my Uncle
Crysogon, you would never change my opinion, or take
away from me the conviction that the prediction will be
realised; therefore, I tell you, were it true that we are
pursued by Dubois's exempts—were there a boat ready t»o
take us to Belle Isle to escape them, so convinced am I that
the sea will be fatal to me, and that no other death has any
power over me, that I would give myself up to my pursuers,
and say, ' Do your worst; I shall not die by your hands.'"
The three Bretons had listened in silence to this strange
declaration, which gathered solemnity from the circum-
stances in which they stood.
" Then," said Du Couedic, after a pause, "we understand
your courage, my friend ; believing yourself destined to one
sort of death, you are indifferent to all other danger; but
take care, if the anecdote were known, it would rob you of
all merit; not in our eyes, for we know what you really
are; but others would say that you entered this conspiracy
because you can neither be beheaded, shot, nor killed by the
dagger, but that it would have been very different if con-
spirators were drowned."
" And perhaps they would speak the truth," said Pont-
calec, smiling.
" But, my dear marquis," said Montlouis, " we, who have
174
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER,
not the same grounds for security, should, I think, pay some
attention to the advice of our unknown friend, and leave
Nantes, or even France, as soon as possible."
" But this may be wrong," said Pontcalec; " and I do
not believe our projects are known at Nantes or else-
where."
" And probably nothing will be known till Gaston has
done his work," said Talhouet, " and then we shall have
nothing to fear but enthusiasm, and that does not kill. As
to you, Pontalec, never approach a seaport, never go to sea,
and you will live to the age of Methuselah !"
The conversation might have continued in this jocular
strain; but at this moment several gentlemen, with whom
they had appointed a meeting, came in by different secret
ways, and in different costumes.
It was not that they had much to fear from the provin-
cial police—that of Nantes, though Nantes was a large town,
was not sufficiently well organised to alarm conspirators,
who had in the locality the influence of name and social
position—but the police of Paris—the regent's police, or
that of Dubois—sent down spies, who were easily detected
by their ignorance of the place, and the difference of their
dress and speech.
Though this Breton association was numerous, we
shall only occupy ourselves with its four chiefs, who were
beyond all the others in name, fortune, courage, and intel-
ligence.
They discussed a new edict of Montesquieu's, and the
necessity of arming themselves in case of violence on the
marshal's part : thus it was nothing less than the beginning
of a civil war, for which the pretexts were the impiety of
the regent's court and Dubois' sacrileges : pretexts which
would arouse the anathemas of an essentially religious pro-
vince, against a reign so little worthy to succeed that of
Louis XIV.
Pontcalec explained their plan, not suspecting that at
that moment Dubois' police had sent a detachment to each
of their dwellings, and that an exempt was even then on
the spot with orders to arrest them. Thus all who had
taken part in the meeting, saw, from afar, the bayonets of
THE ATTEST.
75
soldiers at their houses : and thus, being forewarned, they
might probably escape by a speedy flight; they might easily
find retreats among their numerous friends : many of them
might gain the coast, and escape to Holland, Spain, or Eng-
land.
Pontcalec, Du Couedic, Montlouis, and Talhouet, as
usual, went out together; but, on arriving' at the end of
the street where Montlouis' house was situated, they per-
ceived lights crossing the windows of the apartments, and
a sentinel barring the door with his musket.
" Oh," said Montlouis, stopping his companions, " what
is going on at my house ?"
"Indeed, there is something," said Talhouet; "and just
now I fancied I saw a sentinel at the Hotel de Rouen."
"Why did you not say so?" asked Du Couedic, "it was
surely worth mentioning."
" Oh, I was afraid of appearing an alarmist, and I thought
it might be only a patrol."
" But this man belongs to the regiment of Picardy," said
Montlouis, stepping back.
" It is strange;" said Pontcalec, " let me go up the lane
which leads to my house—if that also be guarded, there will
be no further doubt."
Keeping together, in case of an attack, they went on silently
till they saw a detachment of twenty men grouped round
Pontcalec's house.
" This passes a joke," said Du Couedic, " and unless our
houses have all caught fire at once, I do not understand
these uniforms around them ; as to me, I shall leave mine,
most certainly."
" And I," said Talhouet, " shall be off to Saint-Nazaire,
and from thence to Le Croisic ; take my advice and come
with me. I know a brig about to start for Newfound-
land, and the captain is a servant of mine ; if the air on
shore becomes too bad, we will embark, set sail, and vogue
la galeres ; come, Pontcalec, forget your old witch and come
with us."
" No, no," said Pontcalec, " I will not rush on my fate ;
reflect, my friends ; we are the chiefs, and wre should set a
strange example by flying before we even know if a real
i76
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
danger exists. There is no proof against us. La Jonquiere
is incorruptible; Gaston is intrepid; our letters from him
say that all will soon be over ; perhaps, at this very moment,
France may be delivered and the regent dead. What would
be thought of us if, at such a time, we had taken flight ? the
example of our desertion would ruin everything here. Con-
sider it well; I do not command you as a chief, but I
counsel you as a friend; you are not obliged to obey, for I
free you from your oath, but in your place I would not go.
We have given an example of devotion ; the worst that can
happen to us is to give that of martyrdom ; but this will
not, I hope, be the case. If we are arrested, the Breton
parliament will judge us Of what is it composed ?—of
our friends and accomplices. We are safer in a prison of
which they hold the key, than on a vessel at the mercy of
the winds; besides, before the parliament has assembled, all
Bretagne will be in arms ; tried, we are absolved; absolved,
we are triumphant !"
" He is right/' said Talhouet; " my uncle, my brothers,
all my family are compromised with me. I shall save myself
with them, or die with him."
"My dear Talhouet,' said Montlouis, "all this is very
fine ; but I have a worse opinion of this affair than you
have. If we are in the hands of any one, it is Dubois, who
is not a gentleman, and hates those who are. I do not like
these people who belong to no class—who are neither nobles,
soldiers, nor priests. I like better a true gentlemen, a soldier,
or a monk : at least they arc all supported by the authority
of their profession. However, I appeal, as we generally do,
to the majority; but I confess, that if it be for flight, I shall
fly most willingly."
"And I," said Du Couedic ; "Montesquieu maybe better
informed than we suppose; and if it be Dubois who holds
us in his clutches, we shall have some difficulty in freeing
ourselves."
"And I repeat, we must remain," said Pontcalec; "the
duty of a general is to remain at the head of his soldiers;
the duty of the chief of a conspiracy is to die at the head of
the plot."
"My dear friend," said Montlouis, "your sorceress
THE ARREST
177
blinds you; to gain credence for her prediction, you are
ready to drown yourself intentionally. I am less enthu-
siastic about this pythoness, I confess; and as I do not
know what kind of death is in store for me, I am somewhat
uneasy."
" You are mistaken, Montlouis," said Poncalec, " it is
duty above all which influences me; and, besides, if I do
not die for this, you will not, for I am your chief, and cer-
tainly before the judges I should reclaim the title which
I have abjured to-day. If I do not die by Dubois, neither
will you. We soldiers, and afraid to pay an official visit to
parliament, for that is it, after all, and nothing else ; benches
covered with black robes—smiles of intelligence between the
accused and the judge: it is a battle with the regent; let
us accept it, and when parliament shall absolve us, we shall
have done as well as if we had put to flight all the troops in
Bretagne."
" Montlouis proposed to refer it to a majority," said Du
Couedic, "let us do so."
" I did not speak from fear," said Montlouis; " but I do
not see the use of walking into the lion's mouth if we can
muzzle him."
" That was unnecessary, Montlouis," said Pontcalec; "we
all know you, and we accept your proposition. Let those
who are for flight hold up their hands."
Montlouis and Du Couedic raised their hands.
" We are two and two," said Montlouis; " we must, then,
trust to inspiration."
" You forget," said Pontcalec, " that, as president, I have
two votes."
" It is true."
" Let those, then, who are for remaining here hold up
their hands."
Pontcalec and Talhouet raised their hands; thus the ma-
jority was fixed.
This deliberation in the open street might have seemed
absurd, had it not involved in its results the question of life
or death to four of the noblest gentlemen in Bretagne,
" Well," said Montlouis, " it appears, Du Couedic, that we
were wrong: and now, marquis, we obey your orders."
12
178
THE REGENT'S DA UGHTER.
" See what I do," said Pontcalec, " and then do as yoti
like."
And he walked straight up to his house, followed by his
three friends.
Arriving at the door, he tapped a soldier on the
shoulder.
" My friend," said he, " call your officer, I beg."
The soldier passed the order to the serjeant, who called
the captain.
" What do you want ?" asked the latter.
" I want to come into my house."
" Who are you ?"
"I am the Marquis de Pontcalec."
" Silence !" said the officer, in a low voice, " and fly in-
stantly—I am here to arrest you." Then aloud, "You can-
not pass," said he, pushing back the marquis, and closing in
his soldiers before him.
Pontcalec took the officer's hand, pressed it, and
said :
" You are a brave fehow, but I must go in. I thank
you, and may God reward you !"
The officer, surprised, opened his ranks, and Pontcalec,
followed by his friends, crossed the court. On seeing him,
his family uttered cries of terror.
" What is it ?" asked the marquis, calmly ; " and what is
going on here ?"
" I arrest you, Monsieur le Marquis," said an exempt of
the Provost of Paris.
" Pardieu ! what a fine exploit!" said Montlouis; " and
you seem a clever fellow—you, a provost's exempt, and
absolutely those whom you are sent to arrest are obliged to
come and take you by the collar."
The exempt saluted this gentleman, who joked so plea-
santly at such a time, and asked his name.
" I am Monsieur de Montlouis. Look, my dear fellow,
if you have not got an order against me, too—if you have,
execute it."
" Monsieur," said the exempt, bowing lower as he became
more astonished, "it is not I, but my comrade, Duchevon
who is charged to arrest you ; shall I tell him ?"
THE ATTEST.
m
" Where is he ?"
"At your house, waiting for you."
" I should be sorry to keep you waiting long," said Mont-
louis, "and I will go to him. Thanks, my friend."
The exempt was bewildered.
Montlouis pressed Pontcalec's hand and those of the
others; then, whispering a few words to them, he set out for
his house, and was arrested.
Talhouet and Du Couedic did the same; so that by eleven
at night the work was over.
The news of the arrest ran through the town, but every
one said, " The parliament will absolve them."
The next day, however, their opinions changed, for there
arrived from Nantes the commission, perfectly constituted,
and wanting, as we have said, neither president, procureur
du roi, secretary, nor even executioners. We use the plural,
for there were three.
The bravest men are sometimes stupefied by great mis-
fortune. This fell on the province with the power and
rapidity of a thunder-stroke 3 it made no cry, no movement;
Bretagne expired.
The commission installed itself at once, and expected
that, in consideration of its powers, people would bow be-
fore it rather than give offence; but the terror was so great,
that each one thought of themselves alone, and merely de-
plored the fate of the others.
This, then, was the state of affairs in Bretagne three or
four days after the arrest of Pontcalec and his three friends.
Let us leave them awhile at Nantes, in Dubois' toils, and see
what was passing in Paris.
i8o THE REGENTS DA UGHTER.
CHAPTER XXV,
the bastille.
And now, with the reader's permission, we wiil enter the
Bastille—that formidable building at which even the passing
traveller trembled, and which, to the whole neighbourhood,
was an annoyance and cause of alarm ; for often at night the
cries of the unfortunate prisoners who were under torture
might be heard piercing the thick walls, so much so, that
the Duchesse de Lesdequieres once wrote to the governor,
that, if he did not prevent his patients from making such a
noise, she should complain to the king.
At this time, however, under the reign of Philippe
d'Orleans, there were no cries to be heard; the society
was select, and two well bred to disturb the repose of a
lady.
In a room in the Du Coin tower, on the first floor, was a
prisoner alone; the room was large, and resembled an
immense tomb lighted by two windows, furnished with an
unusual allowance of bars and irons. A painted couch, two
rough wooden chairs, and a black table, were the whole
furniture; the walls were covered with strange inscriptions,
which the prisoner consulted from time to time when he was
overcome by ennui.
He had, however, been but one day in the Bastille, and
yet already he paced his vast chamber, examining the iron-
barred doors, looking through the grated windows, listening,
sighing, waiting. This day, which was Sunday, a pale sun
silvered the clouds, and the prisoner watched with a feeling
THE BASTILLE.
181
of inexpressible melancholy, the walkers on the Boulevards.
It was easy to see that every passer-by looked at the Bastille
with a feeling of terror, and of self-gratulation at not being
within its walls. A noise of bolts and creaking hinges drew
the prisoner from this sad occupation, and he saw the man
enter before whom he had been taken the day before. This
man, about thirty years of age, with an agreeable appearance
and polite bearing, was the governor, M. Delaunay, father
of that Delaunay who died at his post in '89.
The prisoner, who recognized him, did not know how rare
such visits were.
" Monsieur de Chanlay," said the governor, bowing, " I
come to know if you have passed a good night, and are
satisfied with the fare of the house and the conduct of the
employes "—thus M. Delaunay, in his politeness, called the
turnkeys and jailors.
" Yes, monsieur 3 and these attentions paid to a prisoner
have surprised me, I own."
" The bed is hard and old, but yet it is one of the best3
luxury being forbidden by our rules. Your room, monsieur,
is the best in the Bastille3 it has been occupied by the Due
d'Angouleme, by the Marquis de Bassompierre, and by the
Marshals de Luxembourg and Biron 3 it is here that I lodge
the princes when his majesty does me the honour to send
them to me."
"It is an excellent lodging," said Gaston, smiling,
" though ill furnished3 can I have some books, some
paper, and pens ?"
" Books, monsieur, are strictly forbidden3 but if you very
much wish to read, as many things are allowed to a prisoner
who is ennuye, come and see me, then you can put in your
pocket one of those volumes which my wife or I leave
about3 you will hide it from all eyes 3 on a second visit you
will take the second volume, and to this abstraction we will
close our eyes."
" And paper, pens, ink ?" said Gaston, " I wish most
particularly to write."
"No one writes here, monsieur 3 or, at least, only to the
king, the regent, the minister, or to me3 but they draw, and
I can let you have drawing-paper and pencils,"
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Monsieur, how can I thank you sufficiently for your
kindness ?"
" By granting me the request I came to make, for my
visit is an interested one. I came to ask if you would do
me the honour to dine with me to-day ?"
" With you, monsieur ! truly, you surprise me; however,
I cannot tell you how sensible I am of your courtesy, and
should retain for it an everlasting gratitude if I had any pro-
s :ect but death before my eyes."
" Death ! mons'eur, you are gloomy; you should not
think of these things—forget them and accept "
" I do, monsieur."
" A la bonne heure," said the governor, bowing to Gaston,
" I will take back your answer ;" and he went out, leaving the
prisoner plunged in a new train of ideas.
The politeness which at first charmed the chevalier, on
reflection began to arouse some suspicion. Might it not be
intended to inspire him with confidence, and lead him on
to betray himself and his companions ; he remembered the
tragic chronicle of the Bastille, the snares laid for prisoners,
and that famous dungeon chamber so much spoken of,
which none who had entered ever left alive. Gaston felt
himself alone and abandoned. He also felt that the
crime he had meditated deserved death; did not all these
flattering and strange advances conceal some snare? In
fact, the Bastille had done its ordinary work; the prison
acted on the prisoner, who became cold, suspicious, and
uneasy.
" They take me for a provincial," he thought, "and they
hope that—prudent in my interrogatories—I shall be
imprudent in my conduct; they do net, they cannot, know
my accomplices; and they hope that in giving me the
means of communicating with them, of writing to them,
or of inadvertently speaking of them, they will get some-
thing out of rne. Dubois and D'Argenson are at the bottom
of this."
Then Gaston thought of his friends who were waiting for
him without news from him, who would not know what had
become of him, or, worse still, on some false news, might act
and ruin themselves,
THE BASTILLE.
183
Then came the thought of his poor Helene, isolated, as
he himself was, whom he had not even presented to the
Due d'Olivares, her sole protector for the future, and who
might himself be arrested or have taken flight. Then, what
would become of Helene, without support, and pursued by
that unknown person, who had sought her even in the heart
of Bretagne ?
In a paroxysm of despair at this thought, Gaston threw
himself on his bed, cursing the doors and bars which im-
prisoned him, and striking the stones with his hands.
At this moment there was a noise at the door. Gaston
rose hastily, and met M. d'Argenson with a law officer, and
behind them an imposing escort of soldiers. He understood
that he was to be interrogated.
D'Argenson, with his great wig, large black eye?, and dark
shaggy eyebrows, made little impression on the chevalier; he
knew that in joining the conspiracy he sacrificedhis happiness,
and that in entering the Bastille he had sacrificed his life.
In this mood it was difficult to frighten him. D'Argenson
asked a hundred questions which Gaston refused to answer,
replying only by complaints of being unjustly arrested, and
demanding proof. M. d'Argenson became angry, andGastcn
laughed in his face; then D' Argenson spoke of the Breton
conspiracy; Gaston assumed astonishment, and listened to
the list of his accomplices with the greatest sangfroid.
When the magistrate had finirhed, he thanked him for
giving him intelligence of events which were quite new to
him. D'Argenson again lost patience, and gave his ordinary
angry cough.
Then he passed from interrogatory to accusation.
"You wanted to kill the regent," said he, all at once, to
the chevalier.
" How do you know that ?" asked Gaston, calmly.
" Never mind how, since I know it."
" Then I will answer you as Agamemnon did Achilles.
Why ask, since you know it ?"
" Monsieur, I am not jesting," said D'Argenson.
" Nor I," said Gaston; " I only quote Racine."
" Take care, monsieur, you may find this system of defence
do you no good."
184
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" Do you think it would be better to confess what you
ask me ?"
" It is useless to deny a fact which I am aware of."
" Then permit me to repeat my question : what is the use
of asking me about a project of which apparently you are so
much better informed than I am ?"
" I want the details."
"Ask your police, which reads even people's most secret
thoughts."
" Hum, hum," said D'Argenson, in a tone which, in spite
of Gaston's courage, made some impression on him, " what
would you say if I asked news of your friend La Jon-
quiere ?"
" I should say," replied Gaston, turning pale, " that I
hope the same mistake has not been made about him as
about me."
" Ah !" said D'Argenson, " that name touches you, I think
—you know M. la Jonquiere ?"
" I know him as a friend, recommended to me to show
me Paris."
"Yes—Paris and its environs; the Palais Royal, the
Rue du Bac, or La Muette : he was to show you all these,
was he not ?"
" They know all," thought Gaston.
" Well, monsieur," said D'Argenson, " can you find another
verse from Racine which will serve as an answer to my ques-
tion ?"
" Perhaps I might, if I knew what you meant; certainly I
wished to see the Palais Royal, for it is a curious place, and
I have heard it much spoken of. As to the Rue du Bac, I
know little of it; then there only remains La Muette, of which
I know nothing."
" I do not say that you have been there ; I say that La
Jonquiere was to take you there—do you dare to deny
it."
" Ma foi, monsieur, I neither deny nor avow; I refer you
to him; he will answer you if he think fit."
"It is useless, monsieur; he has been asked, and has
replied."
Gaston felt a shudder pass through him. . He might
THE BASTILLE.
185
be betrayed, but he would divulge nothing. He kept
silence.
D'Argenson waited a moment, then, seeing that Gaston
remained silent—
" Would you like to meet La Jonquiere ?" asked he.
"You can do with me as you please, monsieur," said Gaston;
" I am in your hands."
But at the same time he resolved, if he were to face La
Jonquiere, he would crush him beneath his contempt.
" It is well. As you say, I am the master, and I choose
just now to apply the ordinary and extraordinary question :
Do you know what they are, monsieur ?" said D'Argenson,
leaning on each syllable.
• A cold sweat bathed Gaston's temples, not that he feared
to die, but torture was worse than death. A victim of the
torture was always disfigured or crippled, and the best of
these alternatives was a cruel one for a young man of five
and twenty.
D'Argenson saw, as in a mirror, what was passing in
Gaston's mind.
" Hola !" said the interrogator.
Two men entered.
" Here is a gentleman who seems to have no dislike to
the question ordinary or extraordinary. Take him to the
room."
"It is the dark hour, the hour I expected," murmured
Gaston. " Oh, my God ! give me courage."
Doubtless his prayer was heard, for, making a sign that he
was ready, he followed the guards with a firm step.
D'Argenson came behind him.
They descended the stone staircase and passed the first
dungeon in the tower. There they crossed two courts.
As they crossed the second court, some prisoners, looking
through their windows and seeing a gentleman well dressed,
called out :
" Hola ! monsieur, you are set free then ?"
A woman's voice added :
" Monsieur, if you are asked about us when you are free
from here, say that we said nothing."
A young man's voice said :
186
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" You are happy, monsieur—you will see her you love."
"You are mistaken, monsieur," said the chevalier. "I
am about to suffer the question."
A terrible silence succeeded. Then the sad procession
went over the drawbridge. Gaston was placed in a closed
and locked chair and taken to the arsenal, which was sepa-
rated from the Bastille by a narrow passage.
D'Argenson had taken the lead, and awaited the prisoner,
who found himself in a low room covered with damp. On
the wall hung chains, collars, and other strange instruments;
chafing dishes stood on the ground, and crosses of Saint
Andre were in the corner.
"You see this," said D'Argenson, showing the chevalier
two rings fastened into flag stones at six feet apart, and
separated by a wooden bench about three feet high; " in
these rings are placed the head and feet of the patient;
then this tressel is placed under him, so that his stomach
is two feet higher than his mouth; then we pour pots of
water holding two pints each into his mouth. The number
is fixed at eight for the ordinary, ten for the extraordinary
question. If the patient refuses to swallow, we pinch his
nose so that he cannot breathe ; then he opens his mouth,
the.i he swallows. This question," continued he, empha-
sizing every detail, " is very disagreeable, and yet I do not
think I should prefer the boot. Both kill sometimes; the
boot disfigures the patient, and it is true that the water
destroys his health for the future; but it is rare, for the
prisoner always speaks at the ordinary question if he be
guilty, and generally at the extraordinary, if he be not."
Gaston, pale and silent, listened and watched.
" Do you prefer the wedges, chevalier ? Here, bring the
wedges."
A man brought six wedges and showed them, still stained
with blood and flattened at the edges by the blows which had
been struck upon them.
" Do you know the way in which these are used ? The
knees and ankles of the patient are pressed between two
wooden slabs as tightly as possible, then one of these men
forces a wedge between the knees, which is followed by a
THE BASTILLE.
187
larger one. There are eight for the ordinary torture, and
two larger for the extraordinary. These wedges, I warn
you, chevalier, break bones like glass, and wound the flesh
insupportably."
" Enough, enough," said Gaston, " unless you wish to
double the torture by describing it; but, if it be only to guide
my choice, I leave it to you, as you must know them better
than I, and I shall be grateful if you will choose the one
which will kill me most quickly."
D'Argenson could not conceal the admiration with which
Gaston's strength of will inspired him.
" Come," said he, " speak, and you shall not be tor-
tured."
" I have nothing to say, monsieur, so I cannot."
" Do not play the Spartan, I advise you. One may
cry, but between the cries one always speaks under tor-
ture."
" Try," said Gaston.
Gaston's resolute air, in spite of the struggle of nature—a
struggle which was evidenced by his paleness, and by a slight
nervous tremour which shook him—gave D'Argenson the
measure of his courage. He was accustomed to this kind of
thing, and was rarely mistaken. He saw that he should get
nothing out of him, yet he persisted.
" Come, monsieur," said he, " it is still time. Do not
force us to do you any violence."
" Monsieur," said Gaston, " I swear, before God who
hears me, that if you put me to the torture, instead of speak-
ing, I will hold my breath, and stifle myself, if the thing be
possible. Judge, then, if I am likely to yield to threats,
where I am determined not to yield to pain."
D'Argenson signed to the tormentors, who approached
Gaston; but, as they did so, he seemed to gain new strength.
With a calm smile, he helped them to remove his coat and
to unfasten his cuffs.
" It is to be the water, then ?" asked the man.
" The water first," said D'Argenson.
They passed the cords through the rings, brought the
cressels, filled the vases—Gaston did not flinch.
188 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
D'Argenson reflected.
After about ten minutes' thought, which seemed an age to
the chevalier—
" Let him go," said D'Argenson, with a grunt of discon-
tent, and take him back to the Bastille."
IN THE BASTILLE.
189
CHAPTER XXVI.
how life passed in the bastille while waiting
for death.
Gaston was inclined to thank the lieutenant of police, but
he refrained. It might appear as though he had been afraid.
He took his hat and coat, and returned to the Bastille as he
had come.
" They did not like to put a man of high birth to the
torture," thought he ; " they will try me and# condemn me to
death."
But death seemed easy when divested of the preliminary
agonies which the lieutenant of police had so minutely
described.
On re-entering his room, Gaston saw, almost with joy, all
that had seemed so horrible to him an hour before. The
prison seemed gay, the view charming, the saddest inscrip-
tions on the walls were madrigals compared to the menacing
appearance of the room he had just quitted.
The major of the Bastille came to fetch him about an hour
afterwards, accompanied by a turnkey.
" I understand," thought Gaston; " the governor's invita-
tion is a pretext, in such a case, to take from the prisoner
the anguish of expectation. I shall, doubtless, cross some
dungeon, into which I shall fall and die. God's will be
done." And, with a firm step, he followed the major, ex-
pecting every moment to be precipitated into some secret
dungeon, and murmuring Helene's name, that he might die
with it on his lips.
I90
THE REGENTS DA UGHTER.
But, no accident following this poetical and loving
invocation, the prisoner quietly arrived at the governor's
door.
M. Delaunay came to meet him.
" Will you give me your word of honour, chevalier," said
he, " not to attempt to escape while you are in my house ?
It is understood, of course," he added, smiling, " that this
parole is withdrawn as soon as you are taken back to your
own room, and it is only a precaution to ensure me a con-
tinuance of your society."
" I give you my word so far," said Gaston.
"'Tis well, monsieur, enter; you are expected."
And he led Gaston to a well-furnished room, where a
numerous company was already assembled.
" I have the honour to present to you M. le Chevalier
Gaston de Chanlay," said the governor. Then naming, in
turn, each of the persons assembled—
" M. le Due de Richelieu."
" M. le Comte de Laval."
" M. le Chevalier Dumesnil."
" M. de Malezieux."
" Ah," said Gaston, smiling, " all the Cellamare con-
spiracy."
" Except M. and Madame du Maine, and the Prince of
Cellamare," said the Abbe Brigaud, bowing.
" Ah, monsieur," said Gaston, in a reproachful tone, " you
forget the brave D'Harmental and the learned Mademoiselle
de Launay."
"D'Harmental is kept in bed by his wounds," said
Brigaud.
"As to Mademoiselle de Launay," said the Chevalier
Dumesnil, reddening with pleasure, " here she comes ; she
does us the honour of dining with us."
" Present me, monsieur," said Gaston ; " amongst prisoners
we must not make ceremonies; I reckon, therefore, on
you."
And Dumesnil, taking Gaston by the hand, presented him
to Mademoiselle de Launay.
Gaston could not repress a certain expression of astonish-
ment at all he saw.
IN THE BASTILLE.
igi
' Ah, chevalier," said the governor, " I see that, like three-
quarters of the inhabitants of Paris, you thought I devoured
my prisoners."
"No, monsieur," said Gaston, "but I certainly thought
for a moment that I should not have had the honour of dining
with you to-day."
" How so ?"
" Is it the habit to give your prisoners an appetite for
their dinners by the walk I have had to-day ?"
"Ah, yes," cried Mademoiselle de Launay, "was it not
you who were being led to the torture just now ?"
" Myself, mademoiselle; and be assured that only such
a hindrance would have kept me from so charming a
society."
"Ah, these things are not in my jurisdiction," said the
governor; " thank heaven, I am a soldier, and not a judge.
Do not confound arms and the toga, as Cicero says. My
business is to keep you here, and to make your stay as
agreeable as possible, so that I may have the pleasure of
seeing you again. M. d'Argenson's business is to have you
tortured, hung, beheaded, put on the wheel,4 quartered, if
possible; each to his task. Mademoiselle de Launay,"
added he, " dinner is ready, will you take my arm ? Your
pardon, Chevalier Dumesnil; you think me a tyrant, I
am sure, but as host I am privileged. Gentlemen, seat
yourselves."
"What a horrible thing a prison is," said Richelieu,
delicately turning up his cuffs, "slavery, irons, bolts,
chains."
" Shall I pass you this potage a l'ecrevisses ?" said the
governor.
" Yes, monsieur," said the duke, " your cook does it
beautifully, and I am really annoyed that mine did not
conspire with me; he might have profited by his stay in the
Bastille."
" There is champagne," said Delaunay, " I have it direct
from Ai."
" You must give me the address," said Richelieu, " for if
the regent leaves me my head, I shall drink no other wine
192
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
than this. I have got accustomed to it during my sojourns
here, and I am a creature of habit."
" Indeed," said the governor, " you may all take example
by Richelieu; he is most faithful to me; and, in fact,
unless we are overcrowded, I always keep his room ready
for him."
" That tyrant of a regent may force us all to keep a room
here," said Brigaud.
" Monsieur Delaunay," said Laval, in an angry tone,
" permit me to ask if it was by your orders that I was
awoke at two o'clock this morning, and the meaning of this
persecution ?"
" It is not my fault, monsieur; you must blame these
gentlemen and ladies, who will not keep quiet, in spite of all
I tell them."
"We !" cried all the guests.
" Certainly," replied the governor, " you all break through
rules; I am always having reports of communications, cor-
respondences, notes, etc."
Richelieu laughed, Dumesnil and Mademoiselle de Launay
blushed. ,
" But we will speak of that at dessert. You do not drink,
M. de Chanlay ?"
"No, I am listening."
"Say that you are dreaming; you cannot deceive me
thus."
" And of what ?" asked Malezieux.
" Ah, it is easy to see that you are getting old, my poetical
friend; of what should M. de Chanlay dream but of his
love."
" Is it not better, M. de Chanlay," cried Richelieu, " to
have your head separated from your body, than your body
from your soul ?"
" A propos," interrupted Laval, " is there any news from
the court; how is the king ?"
"No politics, gentlemen, if you please," said the governor.
" Let us discuss poetry, arts, war, and even the Bastille, if
you like, but let us avoid politics."
" Ah, yes," said Richelieu, " let us talk of the Bastille.
What have you done with Pompadour ?"
IN THE BASTILLE.
193
liI am sorry to say he forced me to place him in the
dungeon."
" What had he done ?" asked Gaston.
" He had beaten his gaoler."
"How long has it been forbidden for a gentleman to
beat his servant ?" asked Richelieu.
" The gaolers are servants of the king, M. le Due," said
Delaunay, smiling.
" Say rather of the regent."
" A subtle distinction."
"A just one."
" Shall I pass you the chambertin, M. de Laval ?"
" If you will drink with me to the health of the king."
" Certainly—if afterwards you will drink with me to the
health of the regent."
" Monsieur," said Laval, " I am no longer thirsty."
" I believe it—you have just drunk some wine from his
highness's cellar."
" From the regent's ?"
" He sent it me yesterday, knowing that I was to have the
pleasure of your company."
" In that case," said Brigaud, throwing the contents of
his glass upon the floor, " no more poison."
" Oh !" said Malezieux, " I did not know you were such a
fanatic for the good cause."
"You were wrong to spill it, abbe," said Richelieu, "I
know that wine, and you will hardly find such out of the
Palais Royal—if it were against your principles to drink it,
you should have passed it to your neighbour, or put it
back in the bottle. ' Vinum in amphoram,' said my school-
master."
" M. le due," said Brigaud, " you do not know Latin as
well as Spanish."
" I know French still less, and I want to learn it."
" Oh ! that would be long and tedious; better get ad-
mitted into the Academy, it would be far easier."
" And do you speak Spanish ?" asked Richelieu of
De Chanlay.
" Report says, monsieur, that I am here for the abuse of
that tongue."
13
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER
" Monsieur," said the governor, " if you return to politics
I must leave the table."
" Then," said Richelieu, " tell Mademoiselle de Launay
to talk mathematics ; that will not frighten any one."
Mademoiselle de Launay started; she had been carrying
on a conversation with Dumesnil, which had been greatly
exciting the jealousy of Maison-Rouge, who was in love with
her.
When dinner was over, the governor conducted each guest
back to his own room, and when it came to Gaston's turn he
asked M. Delaunay if he could have some razors, instru-
ments which appeared necessary in a place where such elegant
company was assembled.
" Monsieur le Chevalier," said the governor, " I am dis-
tresSed to refuse you a thing of which I see the necessity;
but it is against the rules for any one to shave themselves
unless they have special permission from the lieutenant of
police—no doubt you will obtain the permission if you apply
for it."
" But are those gentlemen whom I met here privileged, for
they were well dressed and shaved ?"
"No, they all had to ask permission; the Due de
Richelieu remained for a month with a beard like a patri-
arch."
" I find it difficult to reconcile such severity in detail with
the liberty I have just seen."
" Monsieur, I also have my privileges, which do not
extend to giving you books, razors, or pens, but which allow
me to invite to my table such prisoners as I choose to
favour—always supposing that it is a favour. True, it is
stipulated that I shall give an account of anything which is
spoken against the government, but by preventing my guests
from touching on politics, I avoid the necessity of betraying
them."
" Is it not feared, monsieur," said Gaston, " that this inti-
macy between you and your prisoners should lead to indul-
gences on your part, which might be contrary to the inten-
tions of the government."
" I know my duty, monsieur, and keep within its strict
limits; I receive my orders from the court, and my guests
IN THE BASTILLE.
195
•—who know that I have nothing to do with them—bear
me no ill will for them. I hope you will do the same."
" The precaution was not unnecessary," said Gaston, "for
doubtless I shall not long be left in the enjoyment of the
pleasure I have had to-day."
"You have doubtless some protector at court?"
" None," said Gaston.
" Then you must trust to chance, monsieur."
" I have never found it propitious."
" The more reason that it should weary of persecuting
you."
" I am a Breton, and Bretons trust only in God."
" Take that as my meaning when I said chance."
Gaston retired, charmed with the manners and attentions
of M. Delaunav-
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XXVII.
how the night passed in the bastille while waiting
for the day.
Gaston had already, on the preceding night, asked for a
light, and been told that it was against the rules—this night
he did not renew the request, but went quietly to bed; his
morning's visit to the torture-room had given him a lesson
in philosophy.
Thus, rather from youthful carelessness than from force
of will or courage, he slept quietly and soundly.
He did not know how long he had slept when he was
awoke by the sound of a small bell, which seemed to be in
his room, although he could see neither bell nor ringer; it
is true that the room was very dark, even by day, and.
doubly so at that hour. The bell, however, continued to
sound distinctly, but with caution, as though it were afraid
of being heard. Gaston thought the sound seemed to come
from the chimney.
He rose, and approaching it gently, became convinced
that he was right.
Presently he heard blows struck—under the floor—on
which he stepped, at regular intervals, with some blunt
instrument.
It was evident that these were signals among the
prisoners.
Gaston went to the window to raise the curtain of green
serge which intercepted the rays of the moon, and in doing
NIGHT IN THE BASTILLE.
197
so he perceived an object hanging at the end of a string and
swinging before the bars.
" Good," said he ; " it appears that I shall have occupa-
tion, but each one in turn; regularity above all things; let
us see what the bell wants, that was the first."
Gaston returned to the chimney, extended his hand, and
soon felt a string, at the end of which a bell wras hanging,
he pulled, but it resisted.
" Good," said a voice, which came down the chimney,
" you are there ?"
" Yes," said Gaston ; " what do you want?"
" Parbleu, I want to talk."
"Very well," said the chevalier, "let us talk."
" Are you not M. de Chanlay, with whom I had the
pleasure of dining to-day ?"
" Exactly so, monsieur."
" In that case I am at your service."
" And I at yours."
" Then have the goodness to tell me the state of the
Bretagne affairs."
"You see they are in the Bastille."
" Good," said a voice, whose joyous tone Gaston could
hear with ease.
" Pardon me," said Gaston, " but what interest have you
in these affairs ?"
" Why, when affairs are bad in Bretagne, they treat us
well, and when they prosper we are treated badly; thus the
othfer day, apropos of some affair, I do not know what, which
they pretended was connected with ours, we were all put
in the dungeon."
" Ah, diable !" said Gaston to himself, " if you do not
know, I do." Then he added, aloud, " well then,
monsieur, be content, they are very bad, and that is perhaps
the reason why we had the pleasure of dining together to-
day."
" Eh, monsieur, are you compromised ?"
" I fear so."
" Receive my excuses."
" I beg you, on the contrary, to accept mine, but I-have a
neighbour below who is becoming impatient, and who is
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
striking hard enough to break the boards of my floor; per-
mit me to reply to him."
" Do so, monsieur; if my topographical calculations are
correct, it must be the Marquis de Pompadour."
" It will be difficult to ascertain."
"Not so difficult as you suppose."
"How so?"
" Does he not strike in a peculiar manner ?"
" Yes; has it a meaning ?"
" Certainly; it is our method of talking without direct
communication."
" Have the kindness to give me the key to the voca-
bulary."
" It is not difficult; every letter has a rank in the
alphabet."
" Decidedly."
" There are twenty-four letters."
"I have never counted them, but no doubt you are
right."
"Well, one blow for a, two for b, three for c, and so
on."
" I understand, but this method of communication must
be somewhat lengthy, and I see a string at my window
which is getting impatient—I will strike a blow or two to
show my neighbour that I have heard him, and then attend
to the string."
" Go, monsieur, I beg, for if I am not mistaken that
string is of importance to me, but first strike three blows
on the floor—in Bastille language that means patience; the
prisoner will then wait for a new signal."
Gaston struck three blows with the leg of his chair, and
the noise ceased.
He then went to the window.
It was not easy to reach the bars, but he at length
succeeded in doing so and raising the string, which
was gently pulled by some hand as a sign of acknowledg-
ment.
Gaston drew the packet—which would scarcely pass the
bars—towards him; it contained a pot of sweetmeats and
a book. He saw that there was something written on the
NIGHT IN THE BASTILLE.
199
paper which covered the pot, but it was too dark to
read it.
The string vibrated gently, to show that an answer was
expected, and Gaston, remembering his neighbour's lesson,
took a broom, which he saw in the corner, and struck three
blows on the ceiling.
This, it will be remembered, meant patience.
The prisoner withdrew the string, freed from its burden,
Gaston returned to the chimney.
" Eh ! monsieur," said he.
" All right, what is it ?"
"I have just received, by means of a string, a pot of
sweets and a book."
" Is not there something written on one of them ?"
"About the book I do not know, but there is on the pot;
unfortunately, it is too dark to read."
" Wait," said the voice, " I will send a light."
"I thought lights were forbidden."
" Yes, but I have procured one."
" Well, then send it, for I am as impatient as you to
know what is wTritten to me." And Gaston, feeling cold,
began to dress himself.
All at once he saw a light in his chimney; the bell came
down again transformed into a lantern.
This transformation was effected in the most simple
manner, the bell turned upside down, so as to form a vessel,
into which some oil had been poured, and in the oil burned
a little wick.
Gaston found this so ingenious that for a moment he
forgot both the pot and the book. " Monsieur," said he to
his neighbour, " may I, without indiscretion, ask you how
you procured the different objects with which you fabricated
this lamp ?"
" Nothing more simple, monsieur; I asked for a bell,
which was given me, then I saved some oil from my break-
fasts and dinners, till I had a bottle full; I made wicks by
unravelling one of my handkerchiefs; I picked up a pebble
when I was walking in the yard; I made some tinder with
burnt linen; I stole some matches when I dined at the
governor's; then I struck a light with a knife, which I pos-
ZOO
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
sess; and with the aid of which I made the hole through
which we correspond."
" Receive my compliments, monsieur, you are a man of
great invention."
" Thank you, monsieur ; will you now see what book has
been sent you, and what is written on the paper of the pot
of sweetmeats."
" Monsieur, the book is a Virgil."
" That is it—she promised it to m'e," cried the voice, in an
accent of happiness which surprised the chevalier, who could
not understand that a Virgil should be so impatiently ex-
pected.
"Now," said the prisoner with the bell, "pass on, I beg,
to the pot of sweetmeats."
" Willingly," said Gaston, and he read—
" Monsieur le Chevalier,
" I hear from the lieutenant of the prison that you
occupy the room on the first floor, which has a window
immediately below mine. Prisoners should aid and help
each other; eat the sweetmeats, and pass the Virgil up
to the Chevalier Dumesnil, whose chimney looks into the
court."
" That is what is expected," said the prisoner with the
bell; " I was told at dinner to day that I should receive this
message."
" Then you are the Chevalier Dumesnil ?"
" Yes, monsieur, and your humble servant."
"I am yours," replied Gaston, "I have to thank you
for a pot of sweetmeats, and I shall not forget my obli-
gation."
"In that case, monsieur," replied the prisoner, "have
the kindness to detach the bell, and fasten on the Virgil
instead."
" But if you have not the light, you cannot read."
"Oh, I will make another lantern."
Gaston, who trusted to his neighbour's ingenuity, after the
proofs he had had of it, made no further difficulties; he took
the bell, which he placed in the neck of an empty bottle, and
NIGHT W THE BASTILLE.
201
fastened on the Virgil, conscientiously replacing a letter which
fell from between the leaves.
" Thank you, monsieur," said Dumesnil; " and now, if
you will reply to your neighbour below ?"
" You give me liberty?"
" Yes, monsieur; though presently I shall make an appeal
to your good nature."
" At your orders, monsieur 3 you say, then, that for the
letters ?"
" One blow for A.; twenty-four for Z."
" Thank you."
The chevalier struck a blow with the handle of the broom,
to give notice to his neighbour that he was ready to enter
into conversation with him; it was instantly answered by
another blow.
At the end of half an hour the prisoners had succeeded in
saying this —
" Good evening, monsieur; what is your name?"
" Thank you, monsieur; I am the Chevalier Gaston de
Chanlay."
"And I, the Marquis de Pompadour."
At this moment Gaston, looking towards the windows, saw
the string shaking convulsively. .
He struck three blows, to ask for patience, and returned
to the chimney.
" Monsieur," said he to Dumesnil, " I beg you to re-
member that the string at the window seems prodigiously
ennuye."
" Beg her to have patience; I will attend to her pre-
sently."
Gaston renewed the signal for patience on the ceiling,
and then returned to the chimney, and the Virgil soon
returned.
"Monsieur," said Dumesnil, "have the goodness to
fasten the Virgil to the string; that is what she wants."
Gaston had the curiosity to see if Dumesnil had replied
to Mademoiselle de Launay. He opened the Virgil; there
was no letter, but some words were underlined in pencil,
and Gaston read : " Meos amores," and " Carceris oblivia
longa." He understood this method of c-orrespondence,
202
THE REGENT'S DA UGHTER.
which consisted in underlining words which; placed together,
made sense.
" Ah," said Gaston, fastening the book to the string, " it
seems that I have become the postman."
Then he sighed deeply, remembering that he had no
means of corresponding with Helene, and that she was
entirely ignorant what had become of him. This gave
him sympathy for the attachment of Mademoiselle de
Launay and the Chevalier Dumesnil. He returned to the
chimney.
" Monsieur," said he, "your letter is despatched."
" A thousand thanks, chevalier. Now a word more, and
I will leave you to sleep in peace."
" Oh, say whatever you wish, monsieur."
" Have you spoken with the prisoner below ?"
"Yes."
" Who is he ?"
"The Marquis de Pompadour."
" I thought so. What did he say ?"
" 'Good evening,' and asked who I was; he had no time
to ask more; the method of communication is not as ex-
peditious as it is ingenious."
"You must make a hole, and then you can talk as
we do."
" What with?"
" I will lend you my knife."
"Thank you."
"It will serve to amuse you, at least."
" Give it me."
" Here it is."
And the knife fell at Gaston's feet.
" Now, shall I send back the bell ?"
" Yes; for my jailors might miss it to-morrow morning,
and you do not want light for your conversation with
Pompadour."
"No; certainly not."
And the bell was drawn up.
" Now," said the chevalier, " you must have something
to drink with your sweets, and I will send you a bottle of
champagne."
NIGHT IN THE BASTILLE.
203
"Thank you," said Gaston, "do not deprive yourself of
it; I do not care much for it."
"Then when you have made the hole, you shall pass it to
Pompadour, who is of a very different opinion. Stay, here
it is."
"Thank you, chevalier."
" Good night."
" Good night."
And the string ascended.
Gaston looked for the string at the window, and saw that
it had disappeared.
" Ah," sighed he, " the Bastille would be a palace for
me, if my poor Helene were in Mademoiselle de Launay's
place."
Then he resumed a conversation with Pompadour, which
lasted till three in the morning, and in which he told him
that he was going to pierce a hole, that they might have
more direct communication.
304
THE REGENTS DA UGHTER.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
a companion in the bastille.
Thus occupied, Gaston was more uneasy than ennuye;
besides, he found another source of amusement. Made-
moiselle de Launay, who obtained whatever she liked from the
lieutenant, Maison Rouge, provided her request were only
accompanied by a sweet smile, obtained paper and pens;
she had sent some to Dumesnil, who had shared them
with Gaston, with whom he still communicated, and with
Richelieu, with whom also he managed to correspond.
Then Gaston formed the idea of making some verses to
Helene.
On his part, the Chevalier Dumesnil made some for
Mademoiselle de Launay, who made them in return for him
so that the Bastille was a true Parnassus. There was only
Richelieu who dishonoured the society by writing prose.
Time passed, as it will pass, even in the Bastille.
Gaston was asked if he would like to attend mass, and as
he was deeply religious, he had assented most gladly. The
next day they came to fetch him.
The mass was celebrated in a little church, having, instead
of chapels, separate closets, with bulls-eye windows into the
choir, so that they could only see the officiating priest at the
moment of elevation, and he could not see the prisoners
at all.
Gaston saw M. de Laval and the Due de Richelieu, who
had apparently come to mass for the purpose of talking, for
they knelt side by side, and kept up an incessant whispering.
A COMPANION- IN THE BASTILLE. 205
Monsieur de Laval appeared to have some important news
to communicate, and kept looking at Gaston as though he
were interested in it. As neither spoke to him, however,
except in the way of mere salutation, he asked no questions.
When the mass was over, the prisoners were taken back.
As they crossed a dark corridor, Gaston passed a man who
seemed to be an employe of the house. This man sought
Gaston's hand, and slipped a paper into it, which he put
quietly into his waistcoat pocket.
When he was alone in his own room he eagerly took it
out. It was written on sugar paper, with the point of a
sharpened coal, and contained this line,—" Feign illness from
ennui."
It seemed to Gaston that the writing was not unknown to
him, but it was so roughly traced that it was difficult to
recognise. He waited for the evening impatiently, that he
might consult with the Chevalier Dumesnil.
At night Gaston told him what had passed, asking him, as
he had a longer acquaintance with the Bastille, what he thought
of the advice of his unknown correspondent.
" Ma foi, though I do not understand the advice, I should
follow it, for it cannot hurt you; the worst"that can happen
is, that they may give you less to eat."
" But," said Gaston, " suppose they discover the illness to
be feigned."
" Oh! as to that," replied Dumesnil, " the doctor is
entirely ignorant, and will give you whatever you may ask
for; perhaps they will let you walk in the garden, and that
would be a great amusement."
Gaston consulted Mademoiselle de Launay, whose advice,
by logic or sympathy, was the same as that of the chevalier;
but she added,
" If they diet you, let me know, and I will send you
chicken, sweets, and Bordeaux."
Pompadour did not reply; the hole was not yet pierced.
Gaston then played the sick man, did not eat what they
sent him, relying on his neighbour's liberality. At the end of
the second day M. Delaunay appeared—he had been told
that Gaston was eating nothing, and. he found the prisoner
in bed.
265
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" Monsieur," he said, " I fear you are suffering, and have
come to see you."
" You are too good, monsieur," said Gaston \ " it is true
that I am suffering."
"What is the matter ?"
" Ma foi, monsieur, I do not know that there is any amour-
propre here ; I am ennuye in this place."
" What, in four or five days ?"
" From the first hour."
" What kind of ennui do you feel ?"
"Are there several?"
" Certainly—one pines for his family."
" I have none."
" For his mistress."
Gaston sighed.
' For one's country."
"Yes," said Gaston, "it is that," seeing that he must say
something.
The governor appeared to reflect.
" Monsieur," said he, " since I have been governor of the
Bastille, my only agreeable moments have been those in
which I have been of service to the gentlemen confided to
my care by the king. I am ready to do anything for you if
you will promise to be reasonable."
" I promise you, monsieur."
" I can put you in communication with one of your com-
patriots, or at least with a man who seems to know Bretagne
perfectly."
" Is he a prisoner ?"
" Like yourself."
A vague sentiment passed through Gaston's mind that
it must be this man who had slipped the note into his
hand. " I should be very grateful if you would do this,"
said he.
" Well, to-morrow you shall see him; but as I am recom-
mended to be strict with him, you can only remain with him
an hour, and as he may not quit his chamber, you must go to
him."
" As you please, monsieur," said Gaston.
"Then it is decided; at five o'clock expect me or the major)
but it is on one condition."
A COMPANION IN THE BASTILLE, 207
« What is it ?"
"That in consideration of this distraction you will eat a little
to-day."
" I will try."
Gaston eat a little chicken and drank a little wine to keep
his promise.
In the evening he told Dumesnil what had passed.
" Ma foi," said he, " you are lucky; the Count de Laval
had the same idea, and all he got was to be put into a room
in the tower Du Tresor, where he said he was dreadfully
dull, and had no amusement but speaking to the prison
apothecary."
" Diable !" said Gaston, " why did you not tell me that
before ?"
"I had.forgotten it."
This tardy recollection somewhat troubled Gaston; placed
as he was between Pompadour, Dumesnil, and Mademoiselle
de Launay, his position was tolerable; if he were to be
removed, he would be really attacked by the malady he had
feigned.
At the appointed time the major of the Bastille came,
and led Gaston across several courts, and they stopped at
the tower Du Tresor. Every tower had its separate name.
In the room number one was a prisoner asleep on a fold-
ing bed, with his back turned to the light; the remains of
his dinner were by him on a worn-out wooden table, and
his costume, torn in many places, indicated a man of low
station.
" Ouais," said Gaston, " did they think that I was so fond
of Bretagne, that any fellows 'who happened to have been
born at Nismes or at Penmarch may be raised to the rank of
my Pylades ? No, this fellow is too ragged, and seems to
eat too much; but as one must not be too capricious in
prison, let us make use of the hour—I will recount my ad-
venture to Mademoiselle de Launay, and she will put it into
verse for the Chevalier Dumesnil."
Gaston was now alone with the prisoner, who yawned and
turned in his bed.
" Ugh ! how cold it is in this cursed Bastille," said he, rub-
bing his nose.
2oS
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" That voice, that gesture—it is he !" said Gaston, and he
approached the bed.
" What," cried the prisoner, sitting up in bed, and looking
at Gaston, " you here, M. de Chanlay ?"
" Captain la Jonquiere," cried Gaston.
" Myself—that is to say, I am the person you name ; but
my name is changed."
"To what?"
" First Tresor."
" What ?"
"First Tresor. It is a custom in the Bastille for the
prisoner to take the name of his room—that saves the turn-
key the trouble of remembering names; however, if the
Bastille be full, and two or three prisoners in the same room,
they take two numbers; for example : I am first Tresor, if
you were put here you would be first Tresor number two;
another would be first Tresor number three—the jailors have
a kind of Latin literature for this."
"Yes, I understand," said Gaston, watching La Jonquiere
intently; " then you are a prisoner ?"
" Parbleu, you see for yourself; I presume we are neither
of us here for pleasure.'
" Then we are discovered."
" I am afraid so."
" Thanks to you."
"How to me?" cried La Jonquiere, feigning surprise.
"No jokes, I beg."
" You have made revelations, traitor !"
" I! come, come, young man, you are mad ; you ought
not to be in the Bastille, but in the Petites Maisons."
" Do not deny it, M. d'Argenson told me !"
" D'Argenson; pardieu, the authority is good; and do you
know what he told me ?"
"No."
" That you had denounced me."
" Monsieur!"
" Well; what then ? Are we to cut each other's throats
because the police has followed out its trade and lied ?"
" But how could he discover ?"
" I ask the same of you. But one thing is certain; if
A COMPANION IN THE BASTILLE.
209
I had told anything, I should not be here. You have not
seen much of me, but you ought to know that I should not
be fool enough to give information gratis: revelations are
bought and sold, monsieur, and I know that Dubois pays
high for them."
" Perhaps you are right," said Gaston; " but at least let
us bless the chance which brings us together."
" Certainly."
" You do not appear enchanted, nevertheless."
" I am only moderately so, I confess."
" Captain !"
"Ah, monsieur, how bad-tempered you are."
"I?"
" Yes; you are always getting angry. I like my solitude;
that does not speak."
" Monsieur !"
" Again. Now listen. Do you believe, as you say, that
chance has brought us together ?"
" What should it be ?"
" Some combination of our jailors—of D'Argenson's, or
perhaps Dubois'."
" Did you not write to me ?"
"1 ?"
"Telling me to fain illness from ennui."
"And how should I have written?—on what?—by
whom ?"
Gaston reflected; and this time it was La Jonquiere who
watched him.
"Then," said the captain, presently, "I think, on the
contrary, that it is to you we owe the ^pleasure of meeting
in the Bastille."
"To me, monsieur?"
"Yes, chevalier; you are too confiding. I give you that
information in case you leave here; but more particularly
in case you remain here."
" Thank you."
" Have you noticed if you were followed ?"
" No."
" A conspirator should never look before, but always be-
hind him."
14
210
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
Gaston confessed that he had not taken this precau-
tion.
"And the duke," asked La Jonquiere, "is he ar-
rested ?"
" I know not ; I was going to ask you."
" Peste ! that is disagreeable. You took a young woman
to him ?"
" You know that."
" Ah ! my dear fellow, everything becomes known. Did
not she give the information ? Ah ! woman, woman !"
"This was a brave girl, monsieur; I would answer for her
discretion, courage, and devotion."
"Yes, I understand. We love her—so she is honey and
gold. What an idea of a conspiracy you must have to take
a woman to the chief of the plot !"
" But I told her nothing; and she could know no secrets
of mine but such as she may have surprised."
" She has a keen eye."
" And if she knew my projects, I am convinced she would
never have spoken."
" Oh, monsieur, without counting her natural disposition
to that exercise, can we not always make a woman speak ?
Some one might have said, without any preparation, ' Your
love for M. de Chanlay will lose your head,'—I will wager
that she will speak."
" There is no danger—she loves me too much."
" That is the very reason, pardieu ! that she would chatter
like a magpie, and that we are both caged up. However,
let us drop this. What do you do here ?"
"Amuse myself."
" Amuse yourself—how ?"
"With making verses, eating sweets, and making holes
in the floor."
"Holes in the king's boards?" said La Jonquiere.
" Oh, oh ! that is good to know. Does not M. Delaunay
scold ?"
" He does not know it; besides, I am not singular—
everybody makes a hole in something; one his floor, the
other his chimney, the next his wall. Do you not make
holes in something ?"
A COMPANION IN THE BASTILLE.
La Jonquiere looked to see if Gaston were not laughing
at him.
"But now, monsieur," said La Jonquiere, "let us speak
seriously. Are you condemned to death ?"
" I ?"
" Yes, you."
" You say that coolly."
" It is a habit in the Bastille. There are twenty here
condemned to death, and not a bit the worse for it."
"I have been interrogated."
" Ah ! you see."
" But I do not believe I am condemned.
" That will come."
" My dear captain, do you know that, although you do
not look so, you are marvellously merry ?"
"You think so?"
"Yes."
" Does it astonish you ?"
" I did not know you were so brave."
" Then you would regret life ?"
" I confess it; I only want one thing to make me happy,
and that is to live."
" And you became a conspirator with a chance of happi-
ness before you ? I do not understand you; I thought
people conspired from despair, as they marry when they
have no other resource."
" When I joined the conspiracy I did not love."
" And afterwards ?"
" I would not draw back."
" Bravo ! that is what I call character. Have you been
tortured ?"
"No; but I had a narrow escape."
" Then you will be."
"Why so?"
" Because I have been; and it would be unfair to treat
us differently. Look at the state of my clothes."
" Which did they give you ?" asked Gaston, shuddering
at the recollection of what had passed between D'Argenson
and himself.
" The water. They made me drink a barrel and a half;
14—2
212
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER,
my stomach was like a bladder; I did not think I could
have held so much."
" And did you suffer much ?" asked Gaston, with
interest.
"Yes; but my temperament is robust—the next day
I thought no more of it. It is true that since then I have
drunk a great deal of wine. If you have to choose, select
the water—it cleans. All the mixtures doctors give us
are only a means of making us swallow water. Fangon
says the best doctor he ever heard of was Doctor Sangrado;
he only existed in Le Sage's brain, or he would have done
miracles."
" You know Fangon ?" asked Gaston, surprised.
" By reputation; besides, I have read his works. But
do you intend to persist in saying nothing ?"
" Doubtless."
"You are right. I should tell you, if you regret life so
much as you say, to whisper a few words to M. d'Argenson,
but he is a talker who would reveal your confession."
" I will not speak, be assured ; these are points on which
I do not need strengthening."
" I believe it; pardieu ! you seem to me like Sardanapalus
in your tower. Here I have only M. de Laval, who takes
medicine three times a day—it is an amusement he has in-
vented. Well, tastes differ; and perhaps he wants to get
accustomed to the water."
" But did you not say I should certainly be con-
demned ?"
" Do you wish to know the whole truth ?"
"Yes."
" Well, D'Argenson told me that you were."
Gaston turned pale, in spite of his courage. La Jonquiere
remarked it.
" However," said he, " I believe you might save yourself
by certain revelations."
" Why, do you think I should do what you re-
fused ?"
" Our characters and our positions are different—I am no
longer young—I am not in love—I do not leave a mistress
in tears."
A COMPANION IN THE BASTILLE. 213
Gaston sighed.
" You see there is a great difference between us ; when
did you ever hear me sigh like that ?"
" Ah ! if I die, his excellency will take care of
Helene."
" And if he be arrested ?"
" You are right."
" Then "
" God will protect her."
"Decidedly you are young," said La Jonquiere.
" Explain."
" Suppose his excellency be not arrested."
"Well."
" What age is he ?"
"Forty-five or six, I suppose."
"And if he fell in love with Helene; is not tnat her
name ?"
" The duke fall in love with her ! he to whose protection
I confided her ! it would be infamous !"
"The world is full of infamy ; that is how it gets on."
" Oh, I will not dwell on such a thought."
" I do not tell you to dwell on it; I only suggested it for
you to make what use you liked of."
" Hush," said Gaston, " some one is coming."
" Have you asked for anything ?"
" No."
" Then the time allowed for your visit is out," and La
Jonquiere threw himself quickly on his bed.
The bolts creaked, the door opened, and the governor
appeared.
" Well, monsieur," said he to Gaston; " does your com-
panion suit you ?"
"Yes, particularly as I know Captain la Jonquiere."
" That makes my task more delicate; but, however, I
made you an offer, and I will not draw back. I will permit
one visit daily, at any hour you please : shall it be morning
or evening ?"
Gaston looked at La Jonquiere.
" Say five in the evening," said La Jonquiere, quickly.
214
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" In the evening at five o'clock, if you please."
" The same as to-day, then ?"
" Yes."
" It shall be as you desire, monsieur."
Gaston and La Jonquiere exchanged a glance, and the
chevalier was taken back to his chamber.
THE SENTENCE,
215
CHAPTER XXIX.
the sentence.
It was half-past six, and quite dark; the chevalier's first act
on being left in his room was to run to the chimney.
" Chevalier," said he.
Dumesnil replied.
" I have paid nly visit."
"Weil?"
" I have found an acquaintance, if not a friend."
" A new prisoner."
" Of the same date as myself."
" His name ?"
" Captain la Jonquiere."
" What ?"
" Do you know him ?"
" Yes !"
" Then do me a favour : what is he ?"
" Oh, an enemy of the regent's."
" Are you sure ?"
" Quite ; he was in our conspiracy, and only withdrew
because we preferred abduction to assassination."
" Then he was ?"
" For assassination."
" That is it," murmured Gaston; " he is a man to be
trusted."
" If it be the same I mean, he lives in the Rue Bourdon-
nais, at the Muids d'Amour."
216
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" The same."
" Then he is a safe man."
" That is well," said Gaston, " for he holds the lives of
four brave gentlemen in his hands."
" Of whom you are one."
"No, I put myself aside, for it seems all is over with
me."
" How all is over ?"
"Yes, I am condemned."
"To what?"
"To death."
There was a moment's silence.
" Impossible !" cried the Chevalier Dumesnil, at length.
" Why impossible ?"
" Because, if I be not mistaken, your affair is attached to
ours."
" It follows on it."
" Well ?"
" Well."
" Our affairs prospering, yours cannot go wrong."
" And who says you are prospering ?"
" Listen, for with you I will have no secrets."
" I am listening."
" Mademoiselle de Launay wrote me this yesterday. She
was walking with Maison-Rouge, who as you know, loves
her, and at whom we both laugh, but who is useful to us.
On pretext of illness, she asked, as you did, for a doctor;
he told her that the prison doctor was at her orders. I must
tell you that we have known this doctor intimately ; his name
is Herment.
" However, she did not hope to get much out of him, for
he is a timid man; but when he entered the garden, where
she was walking, and gave her a consultation in the open
air, he said to her, ' Hope !' In the mouth of any one else
this would have been nothing—in his it was a vast deal;
since we are told to hope, you have nothing to fear, as our
affairs are intimately connected."
" However," said Gaston, "La Jonquiere seemed sure of
what he said."
At this moment Pompadour knocked.
THE SkNTENCE.
21?
Gaston went to the hole, which, with the aid of his knife?
he soon made practicable.
" Ask the Chevalier Dumesnil if he does not know any-
thing more from Mademoiselle de Launay."
"About what?"
" One of us; I overheard some words between the go-
vernor and the major at my door—they were, ' condemned
to death.'"
Gaston shuddered.
" Be easy, marquis ; I believe they spoke of me."
" Diable ! that would not make me easy at all; firstly,
because we have quickly become friends, and I should be
grieved if anything were to happen to you; and, secondly,
because what happened to you might well happen to us, our
affairs being so similar."
"And you believe that Mademoiselle de Launay could
remove your doubts."
" Yes, her windows look on the arsenal."
"Well."
" She would have seen if there were anything new going
on there to-day."
" Ah ! she is striking now !"
At that moment Mademoiselle de Launay struck two blows,
which meant attention.
Gaston replied by one, which meant that he was listening.
Then he went to the window.
A minute after the string appeared with a letter.
Gaston took the letter, and went to the hole to Pom-
padour.
" Well?" said the marquis.
"A letter," replied Gaston.
" What does she say ?"
" I cannot see, but I will send it to Dumesnil, who will
read it."
" Make haste."
" Pardon," said Gaston, " I am as anxious as you and he
ran to the chimney.
" The string," he cried.
"You have a letter."
" Yes ; have you a light?"
THE REGENT}S DAUGHTER.
" Yes."
" Lower the string."
Gaston tied on the letter, which was drawn up.
"It is for you and not for me," said Dumesnil.
" Never mind, read it, and tell me what it is; I have no
light, and it would lose time to send me one."
"You permit me ?"
" Certainly."
A moment's silence.
" Well," said Gaston.
" Diable !"
" Bad news, is it not ?"
"Judge for yourself."
And Dumesnil read:
" My dear Neighbour,
" Some judge extraordinary has arrived at the arsenal
this evening. I recognised D'Argenson's livery. We shall
know more soon, when I see the doctor. A thousand re-
membrances to Dumesnil."
" That is what La Jonquiere told me; it is I that am
condemned."
"Bah, chevalier," said Dumesnil; "you are too easily
alarmed."
"Not at all. I know well what to think, and then—
hark!"
"What !"
" Silence; some one is coming." And Gaston went away
from the chimney.
The door opened, and the major and lieutenant, with four
soldiers, came for Gaston, who followed them.
" I am lost," murmured he. " Poor Helene."
And he raised his head with the intrepidity of a brave
man, who, knowing death was near, went boldly to meet
it.
" Monsieur," said D'Argenson, " your crime has been
examined by the tribunal of which I am the president. In
the preceding sittings you were permitted to defend yourself;
if you were not granted advocates, it was not with the inten-
THE SENTENCE.
219
tion of inquiring your defence, but, on the contrary, because
it was useless to give you the extreme indulgence of a tri-
bunal charged to be severe,"
" I do not understand you."
" Then I will be more explicit. Discussion would have
made one thing evident, even in the eyes of your defenders
—that you are a conspirator and an assassin. How could
you suppose that with these points established indulgence
would be shown you. But here you are before us, every
facility will be given for your justification. If you ask a delay,
you shall have it. If you wish researches, they shall be
made. If you speak, you have the reply, and it will not be
refused you."
" I understand, and thank the tribunal for this kindness,"
replied Gaston, " The excuse it gives me for the absence
of a defender seems sufficient. I have not to defend
myself."
" Then you do not wish for witnesses, delays, or docu-
ments ?"
" I wish my sentence—that is all."
" Do not be obstinate, chevalier; make some confes-
sions."
" I have none to make, for in all my interrogatories you
have not made one precise accusation."
" And you wish ?"
" Certainly—I should like to know of what I am
accused."
" I will tell you. You came to Paris, appointed by the
republican committee of Nantes, to assassinate the regent.
You were referred to one La Jonquiere, your accomplice,
now condemned with you."
Gaston felt that he turned pale at these true accusations.
"This might be true, monsieur," said he, "but you could
not know it. A man who wishes to commit such a deed
does not confess it till it be accomplished."
"No; but his accomplices confess for him."
" That is to say, that La Jonquiere denounces me."
" I do not refer to La Jonquiere, but the others."
" The others !" cried Gaston; " are there, then, others
arrested beside La Jonquiere and myself?"
220
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Yes. Messieurs de Pontcalec, de Tahouet, de Couedic,
and de Montlouis."
" I do not understand," said Gaston, with a vague feeling
of terror—not for himself, but for his friends.
" What ! do you not understand that Messieurs de Pont-
calec, de Tahouet, du Couedic, and de Montlouis are now
being tried at Nantes ?"
" Arrested !" cried Gaston, " impossible !"
" Yes," said D'Argenson, "you thought that .the province
would revolt rather than allow its defenders—as you rebels
call yourselves—to be arrested. Well, the province has said
nothing. The province has gone on singing, laughing, and
dancing, and is already asking where they will be beheaded,
in order to hire windows."
" I do not believe you, monsieur," said Gaston, coldly.
"Give me that portfolio," said D'Argenson to a man
standing behind him. " Here, monsieur," continued he,
" are the writs of arrest. Do you doubt their authen-
ticity ?"
" That does not say that they have accused me."
" They told all we wanted to know, and your culpability
is the result."
" In that case, if they have told all you want to know, you
have no need of my confession."
" Is that your final answer ?"
" Yes."
" Officer, read the sentence."
The officer read—
" As the result of the investigation commenced' on the
19th of February, that M. Gaston de Chanlay came from
Nantes to Paris with the intention of committing the crime
of murder on the person of his Royal Highness Monseigneur
the Regent of France, which was to have been followed by
a revolt against the authority of the king, the extraordinary
commission instituted to inquire into this crime has adjudged
the Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay worthy of the punishment
for high treason, the person of the regent being as inviolable
as that of the king. In consequence—We ordain that the
Chevalier Gaston de Chanlay be degraded from all his
titles and dignities; that he and his posterity be declared
THE SENTENCE.
221
ignoble in perpetuity; that his goods be confiscated, his
woods cut down to the height of six feet from the ground,
and he himself beheaded on the Greve, or wheresoever it
shall please the provost to appoint, saving his majesty's
pardon."
Gaston was pale, but still as marble. " And when am I
to be executed ?" asked he.
" As soon as it may please his majesty."
Gaston felt a cloud pass before his eyes, and his ideas
became confused ; but this soon vanished, and the serenity
of his bearing returned, the blood rushed back to his cheeks,
and a contemptuous smile settled on his lips.
" It is well, monsieur," said he ; " at whatever moment his
majesty's order may arrive, it will find me prepared; but I
wish to know whether I may not see some persons who are
very dear to me before I die, and I wish to ask a favour of
the king."
D'Argenson's eyes glistened with malignant joy. " Mon-
sieur," said he, " I told you that you would be treated with
indulgence. You might therefore have spoken sooner, and
perhaps his highness's kindness might not have waited for a
prayer."
" You mistake me, monsieur," said Gaston, with dignity ;
" neither his majesty's honour nor mine will suffer from the
favour which I shall ask."
"What would you ask ?" said D'Argenson; " speak, and I
will tell you at once if there be a chance of your request
being granted."
" I ask, first, that my titles and dignities—which are not
very great—should not be cancelled, as I have no posterity.
I am alone in the world; my name only survives me; but
as that name is only noble, and not illustrious, it would not
survive long."
" This is quite a royal favour, monsieur. His majesty
alone can and will reply. Is that all you wish to ask ?"
" No; I have another request to make, but I do not know
to whom I should apply."
" First to me, monsieur, in my character of lieutenant of
police. I shall see if I can grant it, or if I must refer it to
his maiestv,"
222
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
"Well, then, monsieur, I desire to see Mademoiselle
Helene de Chaverny, ward of his Excellency the Due
d'Olivares, and also the duke himself."
D'Argenson, at this request, made a singular gesture, which
Gaston interpreted as one of hesitation.
" Monsieur," said Gaston, " I would see them in any
place, and for as short a time as may be thought advis-
able."
" You shall see them," said D'Argenson.
" Ah! monsieur," said Gaston, stepping forward as
though to take his hand, " you lay me under the greatest
obligation."
" On one condition, however, monsieur."
" What is it ? there is no condition compatible with my
honour that I will not accept in exchange for so great a
favour."
" You must tell no one of your condemnation, and this
on your word as a gentleman."
" I accede to that all the more willingly," said Gaston, " as
one of the persons named would certainly die if she knew
of it."
" Then all is well; have you anything further to
say ?"
" Nothing, monsieur, except to beg that you will record
my denials."
"They are already firmly attached—officer, hand the
papers to Monsieur de Chanlay, that he may read and sign
them."
Gaston sat down by a table, and, while D'Argenson and
the judges chatted around him, he carefully perused the
papers and the report of his own answers to the interroga-
tory—then, finding all correct, he signed.
" Monsieur," said he, " here are the documents. Shall
I have the pleasure of seeing you again ?"
" I do not think so," said D'Argenson, with that brutality
which was the terror of those who were subjected to
him.
" Then to our meeting in another wrorld, monsieur."
The major led Gaston to his own room.
THE FAMILY FEUD.
223
CHAPTER XXX.
THE FAMILY FEUD.
When Gaston returned to his room, he was obliged to
answer the questions of Dumesnil and Pompadour, who
were waiting to hear news from him; but, in compliance
with his promise made to D'Argenson, he did not mention
his sentence, but simply announced a severer interrogatory
than before—but as he wished to write some letters, he asked
Dumesnil for a light. Dumesnil sent him a candle—things
were progressing, it may be remarked ; Maison-Rouge could
refuse nothing to Mademoiselle de Launay, and she shared
all with Dumesnil, who, in his turn, again shared with his
neighbours, Gaston and Richelieu.
Gaston doubted whether, in spite of D'Argenson's pro-
mise, he would be allowed to see Helene, but he knew that
at least he should see a priest before he died; there could
be no doubt that the priest would forward two letters for
him.
As he began to write, Mademoiselle de Launay made a
signal that she had something to send him; it was a letter.
Gaston read :
" Our friend—for you are our friend, and now we have no
secrets from you—tell Dumesnil of the famous hope I con-
ceived after the word that Herment said to me."
Gaston's heart beat. Might not he also find in this letter
some ground for hope ? Had they not said that his fate
could not be separated from the others ? It is true that those
who had said so did not know of his conspiracy.
224
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
He read on :
" An hour ago the doctor came, accompanied by Maison-
Rouge; from the latter's manner I drew the most favourable
augury; however, when I asked to speak in private, or, at
least, to whisper to the doctor, he made some difficulties,
which I removed with a smile. ' At least,' said he, ' no one
must know that I am out of hearing. I should lose my place
if it were known how weak I am.' This tone of love and
interest combined seemed to me so grotesque that I laugh-
ingly promised him what he asked; you see how I keep my
promise. He went to a distance, and Herment approached.
Then commenced a dialogue, wherein the gestures meant one
thing while the voice declared another. ' You have good
friends,' said Herment; 'friends in good places, who are
greatly interested for you.' I naturally thought of Madame
du Maine. ' Ah, monsieur,' I cried, ' have you anything for
me?' 'Hush,' said Herment. Judge how my heart beat."
Gaston felt his own beating vigorously.
" ' And what have you to give me ?' ' Oh, nothing my-
self; but you will have the object agreed upon.' 'But
what is the object ? Speak!' ' The beds in the Bastille
are known to be bad, and particularly badly covered, and
I am commissioned to offer you ' 'What?' 'A
coverlet.' I burst out laughing; the devotion of my friends
was shown in preventing my catching cold. ' My dear Mon-
sieur Herment,' said I, ' in my present position it would be
better if my friends were to occupy themselves less about my
feet and more about my head.' ' It is a female friend,' said
he. ' Who is it ?' ' Mademoiselle de Charolais,' said Her-
ment, lowering his voice, so that I could scarcely hear him.
Them he withdrew. I, my dear chevalier, am now waiting
for Mademoiselle de Charolais' coverlet. Tell this to
Dumesnil; it will make him laugh."
Gaston sighed. The gaiety of those around him weighed
heavily on his heart. It was a new torture which they had
invented, in forbidding him to confide his fate to any one;
it seemed to him that he should have found consolation in
the tears of his two neighbours. He had not the courage to
read the letter to Dumesnil, so he passed it on to him, and
a moment after heard shouts of laughter.
THE FAMIL Y FEUD.
225
At this moment Gaston was saying adieu to Helene.
After passing a part of the night in writing, he slept;
at five-and-twenty one must sleep, even if it be just before
death.
In the morning Gaston's breakfast was brought at the usual
hour, but he remarked that it was mor&recherche than usual;
he smiled at this attention, and as he was finishing, the
governor entered.
Gaston with a rapid glance interrogated his expression,
which was calm and courteous as ever. Was he also igno-
rant of the sentence, or was he wearing a mask ?
" Monsieur," said he, " will you take the trouble to descend
to the council-chamber ?"
Gaston rose. He seemed to hear a buzzing in his ears,
for to a man condemned to death every injunction which he
does not understand is a torture.
" May I know the reason, monsieur ?" asked Gaston, in
so calm a tone that it was impossible to detect his real
emotion.
"To receive a visit," replied the governor. "Yesterday,
after the interrogatory, did you not ask the lieutenant of
police to be allowed to see some one ?"
Gaston started.
" And is it that person ?" asked he.
"Yes, monsieur."
Gaston had asked for two persons; the governor only an-
nounced one; which one was it ? He had not the courage
to ask, and silently followed the governor.
Delaunay led Gaston to the council-chamber; on enter-
ing, he cast an eager glance around, but the room was
empty.
" Remain here, monsieur; the person whom you expect
is coming," said the governor, who bowed and went
out.
Gaston ran to the window, which was barred, and looked
out—there was a sentinel before it.
The door opened, and Gaston, turning round, faced the
Due d'Olivares.
"Ah, monsieur," cried he, " how good of you to come at
the request of a poor prisoner."
15
226
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
"It was a duty," replied the duke,- "besides, I had to
thank you."
"Me!" said Gaston, astonished; "what have I done to
merit your excellency's thanks ?"
"You have been interrogated, taken to the torture-
chamber, given to understand thaty ou might save yourself
by naming your accomplices, and yet you kept silence."
" I made an engagement and kept it: that does not
deserve any thanks, monseigneur."
" And now, monsieur, tell me if I can serve you in any-
thing."
"Firstly, tell me about yourself; have you been molested,
monseigneur ?"
"Not at all: and if all the Bretons are as discreet as you,
I doubt not that my name will never be mentioned in these
unfortunate debates."
" Oh, I will answer for them as for myself, monseigneur;
but can you answer for La Jonquiere ?"
" La Jonquiere !" repeated the duke.
" Yes. Do you not know that he is arrested ?"
" Yes; I heard something of it."
"Well, I ask you, monseigneur, what you think of
him ?"
" I can tell you nothing, except that he has my confi-
dence."
" If so, he must be worthy of it, monseigneur. That is all
I wished to know."
" Then come to the request you had to make."
"Have you seen the young girl I brought to your
house ?"
" Mademoiselle Helene de Chaverny ? Yes."
" Well, monsieur, I had not time to tell you then, but I
tell you now, that I have loved her for a year. The dream
of that year has been to consecrate my life to her happiness.
I say the dream, monseigneur; for, on awaking, I saw that
all hope of happiness was denied me ; and yet, to give this
young girl a name, a position, a fortune, at the moment of
my arrest, she was about to become my wife."
" Without the knowledge of her parents or the consent of
her family ?" cried the duke.
THE FAMILY FEUD.
227
" She had neither, monseigneur; and was probably about
to be sold to some nobleman when she left the person who
had been set to watch her.*'
" But who informed you that Mademoiselle Helene de
Chaverny was to be the victim of a shameful bargain ?"
" What she herself told me of a pretended father, who
concealed himself; of diamonds which had been offered to
her. Then, do you know where I found her, monseigneur ?
In one of those houses destined to the pleasures of our
roues. She ! an angel of innocence and purity. In short,
monseigneur, this young girl fled with me, in spite of the
cries of her duenna, in broad daylight, and in the face of
the servants who surrounded her. She stayed two hours
alone with me; and, though she is as pure as on the day
when she received her mother's first kiss, she is not the
less compromised. I wish this projected marriage to take
place."
" In your situation, monseigneur ?"
" A still greater reason."
" But perhaps you may deceive yourself as to the punish-
ment reserved for you !"
" It is probably the same which, under similar circum-
stances, was inflicted on the Count de Chalais, the Marquis
de Cinq-Mars, and the Chevalier Louis de Rohan."
" Then you are prepared even for death, monsieur ?"
" I prepared for it from the day I joined the conspiracy :
the conspirator's only excuse is, that, while robbing others of
their lives, he risks his own."
" And what will this young girl gain by the marriage ?"
" Monseigneur, though not rich, I have some fortune ; she
is poor; I have a name, and she has none. I would leave
her my name and fortune; and with that intention I have
already petitioned the king that my goods may not be con-
fiscated, nor my name declared infamous. Were it known
for what' reason I ask this, it would doubtless be granted ;
if I die without making her my wife, she will be supposed
to be my mistress, and will be dishonoured, lost, and there
will be no future for her. If, on the contrary, by your
protection, or that of your friends (and that protection I
earnestly implore), we are united, no one can reproach her—
iS—2
228
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
the blood which flows for a political offence does not disgrace
a family—no shame will fall on my widow ; and if she cannot
be happy, she will at least be independent and respected.
This is the favour which I have to ask, monseigneur; is it in
your power to obtain it for me ?"
The duke went to the door and struck three blows :
Maison-Rouge appeared.
" Ask M. Delaunay, from me," said the duke, " whether
the young girl who is at the door in my carriage may come
in ? Her visit, as he knows, is authorized. You will have
the kindness to conduct her here."
"What! monseigneur; Helene is here—at the door?"
"Were you not promised that she should come?"
"Yes; but seeing you alone, I lost all hope."
" I wished to see you first, thinking that you might have
many things to say which you would not wish her to hear;
for I know all."
" You know all ! What do you mean ?"
"I know that you were taken to the arsenal yester-
day!"
" Monseigneur !"
" I know that you found D'Argenson there, and that he
read your sentence."
" Mon Dieu !"
" I know that you are condemned to death, and that you
were bound not to speak of it to any one."
" Oh, monseigneur, silence ! One word of this would kill
Helene."
"Be easy, monsieur; but let us see; is there no way of
avoiding this execution ?"
" Days would be necessary to prepare and execute a plan
of escape, and I scarcely have hours."
" I do not speak of escape; I ask if you have no excuse
to give for your crime ?"
" My crime !" cried Gaston, astonished to hear his accom-
plice use such a word.
" Yes," replied the duke : " you know that men stigma-
tize murder with this name under all circumstances; but
posterity often judges differently, and sometimes calls it a
grand deed."
THE FAMILY FEUD.
229
" I have no excuse to give, monseigneur, except that I
believe the death of the regent to be necessary to the salva-
tion of France."
"Yes," replied the duke, smiling; "but you will see that
that is scarcely the excuse to offer to Philippe d'Orleans. I
wanted something personal. Political enemy of the regent's
as I am, I know that he is not considered a bad man. Men
say that he is merciful, and that there have been no execu-
tior.s during his reign."
"You forget Count Horn."
" He was an assassin."
" And what am I ?"
" There is this difference : Count Horn murdered in order
to rob."
" I neither can nor will ask anything of the regent," said
Gaston.
" Not you, personally, I know; but your friends. If they
had a plausible pretence to offer, perhaps the prince himself
might pardon you."
" I have none, monseigneur."
" It is impossible, monsieur—permit me to say so. A
resolution such as you have taken must proceed from a
sentiment of some kind—either of hatred or vengeance.
And stay; I remember you told La Jonquiere, who re-
peated it to me, that there was a family feud : tell me the
cause."
" It is useless, monseigneur, to tire you with that; it would
not interest you."
" Never mind, tell it me."
"Well, the regent killed my brother."
" The regent killed your brother ! how so ? it is impos-
sible, Monsieur de Gaston," said the Due d'Olivares.
" Yes, killed; if from the effect we go to the cause."
" Explain yourself; how could the regent do this ?"
" My brother, who, being fifteen years of age when my
father died, three months before my birth, stood to me
in the place of that father, and of mother, who died when
I was still in the cradle—my brother loved a young girl
who was brought up in a convent by the orders of the
prince."
230
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" Do you know in what convent ?"
" No : I only know that it was at Paris."
The duke murmured some words which Gaston could not
hear.
" My brother, a relation of the abbess, had seen this young
girl and asked her hand in marriage. The prince's consent
to this union had been asked, and he made a pretence of
granting it, when this young girl, seduced by her so-called
protector, suddenly disappeared. For three months my
brother hoped to find her, but all his searches were vain; he
found no trace of her, and in despair he sought death in the
battle of Ramillies."
" And what was the name of this girl!"
"No one ever knew, monseigneur; to speak her name was
to dishonour it."
" It was doubtless she," murmured the duke, " it was
Helene's mother; and your brother was called ?" added
he aloud.
" Olivier de Chanlay, monseigneur."
" Olivier de Chanlay !" repeated the duke, in a low
voice, " I knew the name of De Chanlay was not
strange to me." Then, aloud, " Continue, monsieur; I listen
to you."
" You do not know what a family hatred is in a province
like ours. I had lavished upon my brother all the love which
would have fallen to the share of my father and mother, and
now I suddenly found myself alone in the world. I grew up
in isolation of heart, and in the hope of revenge; I grew
up amongst people who were constantly repeating, ' It was
the Due d'Orleans who killed your brother.' Then the duke
became regent, the Breton league was therefore organized.
I was one of the first to join it. You know the rest. You
see that there is nothing in all this which has any interest for
your excellency."
" You mistake, monsieur ; unfortunately, the regent has to
reproach himself with many such faults."
"You see, therefore," said Gaston, "that my destiny
must be accomplished, and that I can ask nothing of this
man."
THE FAMILY FEUD.
231
"You are right, monsieur; whatever is done must be
.done without you."'
At this moment the door opened and Maison-Rouge
appeared.
" Well, monsieur ?" asked the duke.
" The governor has an order from the lieutenant of police
to admit Mademoiselle Helene de Chaverny; shall I bring
her here ?"
" Monseigneur," said Gaston, looking at the duke with an
air of entreaty.
" Yes, monsieur," said he, " I understand—grief and love
do not need witnesses—I will come back to fetch Made-
moiselle Helene."
"The permission is for half an hour," said Maison-
Rouge.
"Then at the end of that time I will return," said the
duke, and bowing to Gaston, he went out.
An instant after the door opened again, and Helene
appeared, trembling," and questioning Maison-Rouge, but; he
retired without replying.
Helene looked round and saw Gaston, and for a few
minutes all their sorrows were forgotten in a close and
passionate embrace.
' And now " cried Helene, her face bathed in tears.
"Well ! and now?" asked Gaston.
" Alas ! to see you here—in prison," murmured Helene,
with an air of terror, " here, where I dare not speak freely,
where we may be watched—overheard."
" Do not complain, Helene, for this is an exception in
our favour; a prisoner is never allowed to press one who
is dear to him to his heart; the visitor generally stands
against that wall, the prisoner against this, a soldier is
placed between, and the conversation must be fixed before-
hand."
" To whom do we owe this favour ?"
" Doubtless to the regent; for yesterday, when I asked
permission of Monsieur d'Argenson, he said that it was
beyond his power to grant, and that he must refer it to the
regent."
232
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" But now that I see you again, Gaston, tell me all that
has passed in this age of tears and suffering. Ah ! tell me ;
but my presentiments did not deceive me; you were con-
spiring—do not deny it—I know it."
" Yes; Helene, you know that we Bretons are constant
both in our loves and our hatreds. A league was organized
in Bretagne in which all our nobles took part—could I act
differently from my brothers ? I ask you, Helene, could I,
or ought I, to have done so ? Would you not have despised
me, if, when you had seen all Bretagne under arms, I alone
had been inactive—a whip in my hand while others held the
sword?"
" Oh ! yes ; you are right; but why did you not remain in
Bretagne with the others ?"
" The others are arrested also, Helene."
" Then you have been denounced—betrayed."
" Probably—but sit down, Helene; now that we are
alone, let me look at you, and tell you that you are beau-
tiful, that I love you. How have you been in my absence—
has the duke "
" Oh ! if you only knew how good he is to me; every
evening he comes to see me, and his care and attention "
"And," said Gaston, who thought of the suggestion of
the false La Jonquiere, "nothing suspicious in those atten-
tions ?"
" What do you mean, Gaston ?"
" That the duke is still young, and that, as I told you
just now, you are beautiful."
" Oh, heaven ! no ! Gaston; this time there is not a
shadow of doubt; and when he was there near me—as near
as you are now—there were moments when it seemed as if
I had found my father."
" Poor child !"
"Yes, by a strange chance, for which I cannot account,
there is a resemblance between the duke's voice and that of
the man who came to see me at Rambouillet—it struck me
at once."
"You think so?" said Gaston, in an abstracted.tone.
" What are you thinking of, Gaston ?" asked Helene; " you
seem scarcely to hear what I am saying to you."
THE FAMILY FEUD.
233
" Helene, every word you speak goes to the inmost depth
of my heart."
" You are uneasy, I understand. To conspire is to stake
your life; but be easy, Gaston—I have told the duke that if
you die I shall die too."
Gaston started.
" You are an angel," said he.
" Oh, my God !" cried poor Helene, " how horrible to
know that the man I love runs a danger—all the more
terrible for being uncertain; to feel that I am powerless to
aid him, and that I can only shed tears when 1 would give
my life to save him."
Gaston's face lit up with a flush of joy; it was the first
time that he had ever heard such words from the lips of his
beloved; and under the influence of an idea which had been
occupying him for some minutes—
"Yes, dearest," said he, taking her hand, "you can do
much for me."
" What can I do ?"
" You can become my wife."
Helene started.
" I your wife, Gaston ?" cried she.
" Yes, Helene; this plan, formed in our liberty, may be
executed in captivity. Helene, my wife before God and man,
in this world and the next, for time and for eternity. You
can do this for me, Helene, and am I not right in saying that
you can do much ?"
" Gaston," said she, looking at him fixedly, " you are
hiding something from me."
It was Gaston's turn to start now.
" I !" said he, " what should I conceal from you ?"
" You told me you saw M. d'Argenson yesterday ?"
" Well, what then ?"
"Well, Gaston," said Helene, turning pale, "you are con-
demned."
Gaston fook a sudden resolution.
"Yes," said he, " I am condemned to exile; and, egctis':
as I am, I would bind you to me by indissoluble ties before
I leave France."
" Is that the truth, Gaston ?"
234 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" Yes; have you the courage to be my wife, Helene ? to
be exiled with me ?"
" Can you ask it, Gaston ?" said she, her eyes lighted with
enthusiasm—exile—I thank thee, my God—I, who would
have accepted an eternal prison with you, and have thought
myself blessed—I may accompany, follow you ? Oh, this
condemnation is, indeed, a joy after what we feared ! Gaston,
Gaston, at length we shall be happy."
" Yes, Helene," said Gaston, with an effort.
"Picture my happiness," cried Helene; "to me France
is the country where you are; your love is the only country
I desire. I know I shall have to teach you to forget Bre-
tagne, your friends, and your dreams of the future; but I
will love you, so that it will be easy for you to forget
them."
Gaston could do nothing but cover her hands with
kisses.
" Is the place of your exile fixed ?" said she; " tell me,
when do you go ? shall we go together ?'
" My Helene," replied Gaston, " it is impossible; we
must be separated for a time. I shall be taken to the
frontier of France—I do not as yet know which—and set
free. Once out of the kingdom, you shall rejoin me."
" Oh, better than that, Gaston—better than that. By
means of the duke I will discover the place of your exile,
and instead of joining you there, I will be there to meet
you. As you step from the carriage which brings you, you
shall find me waiting to soften the pain of your adieux to
France; and then, death alone is irretrievable; later, the
king may pardon you; later still, and the action punished
to-day may be looked upon as a deed to be rewarded.
Then we will return; then nothing need keep us from
Bretagne, the cradle of our love, the paradise of our
memories. Oh!" continued she, in an accent of mingled
love and impatience, " tell me, Gaston, that you share my
hopes, that you are content, that you are happy,"
" Yes, Helene, I now am happy, indeed; for now—and
only now—I know by what an angel I am beloved. Yes,
dearest one hour of such love as yours, and then death
THE FAMILY FEUD'.
235
would be better than a whole life with the love of any
other."
"Well!" exclaimed Helene, her whole mind and soul
earnestly fixed on the new future which was opening before
her, " what will they do ? Will they let me see you again
before your departure ? When and how shall we meet next ?
Shall you receive my letters? Can you reply to them?
What hour to-morrow may I come ?"
" They have almost promised me that our marriage shall
take place this evening or to-morrow morning."
" What ! here in a prison," said Helene, shuddering in-
voluntarily.
" Wherever it may be, Helene, it will bind us together for
the rest of our lives."
" But suppose they do not keep their promise to you;
suppose they make you set out before I have seen
you."
"Alas !" said Gaston, with a bursting heart, "that is pos-
sible, Helene, and it is that I dread."
" Oh, mon Dieu ! do you think your departure is so
near ?"
"You know, Helene, that prisoners are not their own
masters; they may be removed at any moment."
" Oh, let them come—let them come ; the sooner you are
free, the sooner we shall be reunited. It is not necessary
that I should be your wife, in order to follow and join you.
Do I not know my Gaston's honour, and from this day
I look upon him as my husband before God. Oh, go
proudly, Gaston, for while these thick and gloomy walls
surround you I tremble for your life. Go, and in a week
we shall be reunited; reunited, with no separation to
threaten us, no one to act as spy on us—reunited for
ever."
The door opened.
" Great heaven, already !" said Helene.
" Madame," said the lieutenant, " the time has elapsed.
" Helene," said Gaston, seizing the young girl's hand,
with a nervous trembling which he could not master.
"What is it?" cried she, watching him with terror. "Good
heaven ! you are as pale as marble."
235 THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" It is nothing," said he, forcing himself to be
calm ; " indeed, it is nothing," and he kissed her
hand.
" Till to-morrow, Gaston."
" To-morrow—yes."
The duke appeared at the door ; Gaston ran to
him.
" Monseigneur," said he, " do all in your power to
obtain permission for her to become my wife; but if
that be impossible, swear to me that she shall be your
daughter."
The duke pressed Gaston's hand ; he was so affected that
he could not speak.
Helene approached. Gaston was silent, fearing she might
overhear.
He held out his hand to Helene, who presented her fore-
head to him, while silent tears rolled down her cheeks;
Gaston closed his eyes, that the sight of her tears might not
call up his own.
At length they must part. They exchanged one
last lingering glance, and the duke pressed Gaston's
hand.
How strange was this sympathy between two men, one
of whom had come so far for the sole purpose of killing the
other.
The door closed, and Gaston sank down on a seat, utterly
broken and exhausted.
In ten minutes the governor entered; he came to conduct
Gaston back to his own room.
Gaston followed him silently, and when asked if there was
anything he wanted, he mournfully shook his head.
At night Mademoiselle de Launay signalled that she had
something to communicate.
Gaston opened the window, and received a letter
enclosing another.
The first was for himself.
He read :
" Dear Neighbour,
" The coverlid was not so contemptible as I supposed j
THE FAMILY FEUD.
237
it contained a little paper on which was written the word
already spoken by Herment—c Hope !' It also enclosed
this letter for M. de Richelieu; send it to Dumesnil, who
will pass it to the duke.
" Your servant,
" DE Launay."
" Alas !" thought Gaston, " they will miss me when I am
gone," and he called Dumesnil, to whom he passed the letter.
238
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XXXI.
state affairs and family affairs.
On leaving the Bastille, the duke took Helene home, pro-
mising to come and see her as usual in the evening; a
promise which Helene would have estimated all the more
highly if she had known that his highness had a bal masque
at Monceaux.
On re-entering the Palais Royal the duke asked for Dubois,
and was told he was in his study, working. The duke
entered without allowing himself to be announced. Dubois
was so busy that he did not hear the duke, who advanced
and looked over his shoulder, to see what was occupying
him so intently.
He wras writing down names, with notes by the side of
each.
" What are you doing there, abb£ ?" asked the regent.
" Ah ! monseigneur, it is you; pardon; I did not hear
you."
" I asked what you were doing ?"
" Signing the burial-tickets for our Breton friends."
M But their fate is not yet decided, and the sentence of the
commission "
" I know it," said Dubois.
" Is it given, then ?"
" No, but I dictated it before they went."
" Do you know that your conduct is odious ?"
" Truly, monseigneur, you are insupportable. Manage
your family affairs, and leave state affairs to me."
STATE AFFAIRS AND FAMILY AFFAIRS.
" Family affairs !"
" Ah! as to those, I hope you are satisfied with me, or
you would indeed be difficult to please. You recommend
to me M. de Chanlay, and on your recommendation I make
it a rose-water Bastille to him ; sumptuous repasts, a charm-
ing governor. I let him pierce holes in your floors, and spoil
your walls, all which will cost us a great deal to repair. Since
his entrance, it is quite a fete. Dumesnil talks all day
through his chimney, Mademoiselle de Launay fishes with a
line through her window, Pompadour drinks champagne.
There is nothing to be said to all this : these are your family
affairs ; but in Bretagne you have nothing to see, and I for-
bid you to look, monseigneur, unless you have a few more
unknown daughters there, which is possible."
" Dubois ! scoundrel !"
" Ah ! you think when you have said ' Dubois,' and added
4 scoundrel' to my name, you have done everything. Well,
scoundrel as much as you please; meanwhile, but for the
scoundrel you would have been assassinated."
" Well, what then ?"
" What then ! Hear the statesman ! Well, then, I should
be hung, perhaps, which is a consideration; then Madame
de Maintenon would be Regent of France ! What a joke !
What then, indeed ! To think that a philosophic prince
should utter such naivetes ! Oh, Marcus Aurelius ! was it
not he who said, 4 Populos esse demum felices si reges philo-
sophi forent, aut philosophi reges ?' Here is a sample."
Dubois still wrote on.
44 Dubois ! you do not know this young man."
" What young man ?"
" The chevalier."
" Really ! you shall present him to me when he is your
son-in-law."
" That will be to-morrow, Dubois."
The abbe looked round in astonishment, and looking at
the regent, with his little eyes as wide open as possible—
44 Ah, monseigneur, are you mad ?" he said.
" No, but he is an honourable man, and you know that
they are rare."
240
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER,.
" Honourable man! Ah, you have a strange idea of
honour."
" Yes; I believe that we differ in our ideas of it."
" What has this honourable man done ! Has he poisoned
the dagger with which he meant to assassinate you ? for then
he would be more than an honourable man, he would be a
saint. We have already St. Jacques Clement, St. Ravaillac;
St. Gaston is wanting in the calendar. Quick, quick,
monseigneur ! you who will not ask the pope to give a
cardinal's hat to your minister, ask him to canonize your
assassin ; and for the first time in your life you would be
logical."
" Dubois, I tell you there are few capable of doing what
this young man has done."
" Peste ! that is lucky; if there were ten in France I should
certainly resign."
" I do not speak of what he wished to do, but of what he
has done."
"Well, what has he done? I should like to be edi-
fied."
" First, he kept his oath to D'Argenson."
" I doubt it not, he is faithful to his word; and but
for me would have kept his word also with Pontcalec,
Tahouet, etc."
" Yes, but one was more difficult than the other. He had
sworn not to mention his sentence to any one, and he did
not speak of it to his mistress."
"Nor to you?"
" He spoke of it to me, because I told him that I knew
it. He forbade me to ask anything of the regent, desiring,
he said, but one favour."
"And that one?"
"To marry Helene, in order to leave her a fortune and a
name."
" Good; he wants to leave your daughter a fortune and a
name ; he is polite, at least."
"Do you forget that this is a secret from him?"
" Who knows ?"
" Dubois, I do not know in what your hands were steeped
STATE AFFAIRS AND FAMILY AFFAIRS.
the day you were born, but I know that you sully everything
you touch."
"Except conspirators, monseigneur, for it seems to me
that there, on the contrary, I purify. Look at those of Cel-
lamare, how all that affair was cleared out; Dubois here,
Dubois there, I hope the apothecary has properly purged
France from Spain. Well, it shall be the same with Olivares
as with Cellamare. There is now only Bretagne congested j
a good dose, and all will be right."
" Dubois, you would joke with the Gospel."
" Pardieu ! I began by that."
The regent rose.
" Come, monseigneur, I wras wrong; I forgot you were fast-
ing; let us hear the end of this story."
" The end is that I promised to ask this favour from the
regent, and that the regent will grant it."
"The regent will commit a folly."
" No, he will only repair a fault."
" Ah, now you find you have a reparation to make to M. de
Chanlay."
" Not to him, but to his brother."
" Still better. What have you done to his brother?"
" I took from him the woman he loved."
"Who ?"
" Helene's mother."
" Well, that time you were wrong; for if you had let her
alone we should not have had all this tiresome affair on our
hands."
" But we have it, and must now get out of it as well as
possible."
" Just what I am working at; and when is the marriage to
take place?"
" To-morrow."
" In the cLapel of the Palais Royal ? You shall dress in
the costume of a knight of the order; you shall extend both
hands over your son-in-law's head—one more than he meant
to have held over you—it will be very affecting."
" No, abbe, it shall not be thus; they shall be married in
the Bastille, and I shall be in the chapel where they cannot see
me."
16
242
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" Well, monseigneur, I should like to be with you. 1
should like to see the ceremony; I believe these kind of
things are very touching."
"No, you would be in the way, and your ugly face would
betray my incognito."
"Your handsome face is still more easy to recognize,
monseigneur," said Dubois, bowing; " there are portraits
of Henry the Fourth and Louis the Fourteenth in the
Bastille."
" You flatter me."
" Are you going away, monseigneur ?"
"Yes, I have an appointment with Delaunay."
" The governor of the Bastille ?"
"Yes."
" Go, monseigneur, go."
" Shall I see you to-night at Morceaux ?"
" Perhaps."
" Have you a disguise ?"
" I have La Jonquiere's dress."
" Oh ! that is only fit for the Rue du Bac."
" Monseigneur forgets the Bastille, where it has had some
success."
"Well, adieu, abbe."
"Adieu, monseigneur."
When Dubois was left alone he appeared to take some
sudden resolution. He rang the bell, and a servant
entered.
" M. Delaunay is coming to the regent, watch him, and bring
him here afterwards."
The servant retired without a reply, and Dubois resumed
his work.
Half an hour afterwards the door opened, and the servant
announced Delaunay. Dubois gave him a note.
"Read that," said he; "I give you written instructions,
that there may be no pretext for neglecting them."
"Ah, monseigneur," said Delaunay, "you would ruin
me."
" How so
" To-morrow when it becomes known."
" Who will tell it ? will you ?"
ST A TE AFFAIRS AND FAMIL Y AFFAIRS. 243
No, but monseigneur "
" Will be enchanted ; I answer for him."
u A governor of the Bastille !"
" Do you care to retain the title ?"
" Certainly."
" Then do as I tell you."
" 'Tis hard, however, to close one's eyes and ears."
" My dear Delaunay, go and pay a visit to Dumesnil's
Chimney and Pompadour's ceiling."
" Is it possible ? You tell me of things I was not at all
aware of."
" A proof that I know better than you what goes on in the
Bastille ; and if I were to speak of some things you do know,
you would be still more surprised."
" What could you tell me ?"
" That a week ago one of the officers of the Bastille, and
an important one too, received fifty thousand francs to let two
women pass with "
" Monsieur, they were "
" I know who they were, what they went for, and what
they did. They were Mademoiselle de Valois and Made-
moiselle de Charolais; they went to see the Due de Riche-
lieu, and they eat bon-bons till midnight in the Tour du
Coin, where they intend to pay another visit to-morrow, as
they have already announced to M. de Richelieu."
Delaunay turned pale.
"Well," continued Dubois, " do you think if I told these
kind of things to the regent, who is, as you know, greedy of
scandal, that a certain M. Delaunay would be long governor
of the Bastille ? But I shall not say a word, for we must
help each other."
" I am at your orders, monsieur."
" Then I shall find everything ready ?"
" I promise you ; but not a word to monseigneur."
" That is right, M. Delaunay. Adieu !"
" Good," said Dubois, when he was gone ; " and now,
monseigneur, when you want to marry your daughter to-
morrow there shall be only one thing missing—your son-
in-law."
* # # # #
16—2
244 the Regents daughter.
As Gaston passed on the letter to Dumesnil he heard steps
in the corridor, and, hastily signing to the chevalier not to
speak, he put out the light and began to undress. The
governor entered. As it was not his custom to visit his
prisoners at this hour, Gaston saw him with alarm, and he
noticed that as M. Delaunay placed his lamp on the table his
hand trembled. The turnkeys withdrew, but the prisoner
saw two soldiers at the door.
" Chevalier," said the governor, " you told me to treat you
as a man—learn that you were condemned yesterday."
" And you have come to tell me," said Gaston, who always
gained courage in the face of danger, " that the hour of my
execution is arrived."
" No, monsieur, but it approaches."
" When will it be ?"
" May I tell you the truth, chevalier ?"
" I shall be most grateful to you."
" To-morrow, at break of day."
" Where ?"
" In the yard of the Bastille."
" Thank you ; I had hoped, however, that before I died
I might have been the husband of the young girl who was
here yesterday."
" Did M. dArgenson promise you this ?"
" No, but he promised to ask the king."
" The king may have refused."
" Does he never grant such favours ?"
" 'Tis rare, monsieur, but not without a precedent."
" I am a Christian," said Gaston; " I hope I shall be
allowed a confessor."
" He is here."
" May I see him ?"
"Directly; at present he is with your accomplice !"
" My accomplice ! who ?"
" La Jonquiere, who will be executed with you."
"And I had suspected him !" said Gaston.
"Chevalier, you are young to die," said the governor.
" Death does not count years : God bids it strike and it
obeys."
STATE AFFAIRS AND FAMILY AFFAIRS. 245
" But if one can avert the blow, it is almost a crime not
to do so."
"What do you mean? I do not understand."
" I told you that M. d'Argenson gave hopes."
" Enough, monsieur, I have nothing to confess."
At this moment the major knocked at the door and ex-
changed some words with the governor.
"Monsieur," said the latter, "Captain la Jonquiere wishes
to see you once more."
" And you refuse it ?" said Gaston, with a slight ironical
smile.
" On the contrary, I grant it, in the hope that he will be
more reasonable than you, and that he wishes to consult you
as to making confessions."
" If that be his intention, tell him I refuse to come."
" I know nothing of it, monsieur; perhaps he only wishes
once again to see his companion in misfortune."
" In that case, monsieur, I consent."
"Follow me, then."
They found the captain lying on the bed with his clothes
in rags.
" I thought the almoner of the Bastille was with you ?"
said M. Delaunay.
" He was, but I sent him away."
"Why so?"
"Because I do not like Jesuits; do you think, morbleu,
that I cannot die properly without a priest ?"
"To die properly, monsieur, is not to die bravely, but as
a Christian."
" If I had wanted a sermon, I would have kept the priest,
but I wanted M. de Chanlay."
" He is here, monsieur; I refuse nothing to those who
have nothing to hope."
"Ah! chevalier, are you there?" said La Jonquiere,
turning round; " you are welcome."
"Explain," said Gaston; "I see with sorrow that you
refuse the consolations of religion."
"You also ! if you say another word, I declare I will turn
Huguenot."
246
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Pardon, captain, but I thought it my duty to advise you
to do what I shall do myself."
" I bear you no ill-will, chevalier; if I were a minister, I
would proclaim religious liberty. Now, M. Delaunay," con-
tinued he, " you understand that as the chevalier and I are
about to undertake a long tete-h-tete journey, we have some
things to talk over together first."
" I will retire. Chevalier, you have an hour to remain
here."
" Thank you, monsieur," said Gaston.
"Well ?" said the captain, when they were alone.
" Well," said Gaston, " you were right."
" Yes; but I am exactly like the man who went round
Jerusalem crying out 'Woe !' for seven days, and the eighth
day a stone thrown from the walls struck him and killed
him."
" Yes, I know that we are to die together."
" Which annoys you a little ; does it not ?"
c< Very much, for I had reason to cling to life."
" Every one has."
" But I above all."
" Then I only know one way."
" Make revelations ! never."
" No, but fly with me."
" How ! fly with you ?"
" Yes, I escape."
"But do you know that our execution is fixed for to-
morrow ?"
" Therefore I decamp to-night."
"Escape, do you say?"
" Certainly."
" How ? where ?"
"Open the window."
"Well." ^
"Shake the middle bar."
"Great God !"
" Does it resist ?"
"No, it yields !"
"Very good, it has given me trouble enough, Heaven
knows." 9
ST A TE AFFAIRS AND FAMIL Y AFFAIRS. 247
" It seems like a dream."
" Do you remember asking me if I did not make holes in
anything, like all the others ?"
" Yes, but you replied "
" That I would tell you another time ; was the answer a
good one ?"
" Excellent; but how to descend ?"
" Help me."
"In what?"
"To search my paillasse."
" A ladder of cord !"
" Exactly."
" But how did you get it ?"
" I received it with a file in a lark pie the day of my
arrival."
" Certainly, you are decidedly a great man."
" I know it; besides that, I am a good man—for I might
escape alone."
"And you have thought of me."
" I asked for you, saying that I wished to say adieu to
you. I knew I should entice them to do some act of
stupidity."
"Let us make haste, captain."
" On the contrary, let us act slowly and prudently; we
have an hour before us."
" And the sentinels ?"
" Bah ! it is dark." _
" But the moat, which is full of water ?"
" It is frozen."
" But the wall ?"
" When we are there, will be time enough to think about
that."
" Must we fasten the ladder ?"
"I want to try if it be solid; I have an affection for my
spine, such as it is, and do not want to break my neck to
save it from another fate."
"You are the first captain of the day, La Jonquiere."
"Bah ! I have made plenty of others," said La Jonquiere,
tying the last knot in the ladder.
" Is it finished ?" asked Gaston.
24S
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Yes."
" Shall I pass first ?"
" As you like."
" I like it so."
" Go, then."
" Is it high ?"
" Fifteen to eighteen feet."
" A trifle."
" Yes, for you who are young, but it is a different affair for
me; be prudent, I beg."
" Do not be afraid."
Gaston went first, slowly and prudently, followed by La
Jonquiere, who laughed in his sleeve, and grumbled every
time he hurt his fingers, or when the wind shook the
cords.
" A nice affair for the successor of Richelieu and Mazarin,"
he growled to himself. " It is true I am not yet a cardinal;
that saves me."
Gaston touched the water, or rather ice, of the fosse; a
moment after, La Jonquiere was by his side.
" Now follow me," said the latter. On the other side of
the moat a ladder awaited them.
"You have accomplices then?"
" Parbleu! do you think the lark pate came by it-
self?" _ .
" Who says one cannot escape from the Bastille ?" said
Gaston joyously.
" My young friend," said Dubois, stopping on the third
step, " take my advice; don't get in there again without
me; you might not be as fortunate the second time as the
first."
They continued to mount the wall, on the platform of
which a sentinel walked, but instead of opposing them, he
held his hand to La Jonquiere to assist him, and in three
minutes they were on the platform, had drawn up the ladder,
and placed it on the other side of the wall.
The descent was as safely managed, and they found them-
selves on another frozen moat.
Now," said the captain, " we must take away the ladder,
STATE AFFAIRS AND FAMILY AFFAIRS. 249
that we may not compromise the poor devil who helped
us."
" We are then free ?"
" Nearly so," said La Jonquiere.
Gaston, strengthened by this news, took up the ladder on
his shoulder.
" Peste, chevalier ! the late Hercules was nothing to you,
I think."
" Bah !" said Gaston, " at this moment I could carry the
Bastille itself."
They went on in silence to a lane in the Faubourg St.
Antoine ; the streets were deserted.
"Now, my dear, chevalier," said La Jonquiere, "do
me the favour to follow me, to the corner of the Fan-
bourg."
" I would follow you to "
" Not so far, if you please ; for safety's sake we will each go
our own way."
" What carriage is that ?"
" Mine."
" How ! yours ?"
"Yes."
" Peste ! my dear captain ; four horses ! you travel like a
prince !"
"Three horses; one-is for you."
" How ! you consent ?"
" Pardieu ! that is not all."
"What?"
" You have no money ?"
" It was taken away."
" Here are fifty louis."
" But, captain "
" Come, it is Spanish money; take it."
Gaston took the purse, while a postilion unharnessed a
horse and led it to him.
" Now," said Dubois, " where are you going?"
"To Bretagne, to rejoin my companions."
"You are mad, my dear fellow; they are all condemned,
and may be executed in two or three days."
*'You are right," said Gaston,
250 THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
"Go to Flanders," said La Jonquiere, "it is a pleasant
country; in fifteen or eighteen hours you can reach the
frontier."
" Yes," said Gaston gloomily ; " thank you, I know where
I shall go."
" Well, good luck to you," said Dubois, getting into his
carriage.
" The same to you," said Gaston.
They grasped each other's hands, and then each went his
own way.
WE MUST NOT JUDGE OTHERS BY OURSELVES. 251
CHAPTER XXXII.
showing that we must not always judge others by our-
selves, above all if we are called dubois.
The regent, as usual, passed the evening with Helene.
He had not missed for four or five days, and the hours he
passed with her were his happy hours, but this time he
found her very much shaken by her visit to her lover in the
Bastille.
" Come," said the regent, " take courage, Helene; to-
morrow you shall be his wife."
"To-morrow is distant," replied she.
" Helene, believe in my word, which has never failed
you. I tell you that to-morrow shall dawn happily for you
and for him."
Helene sighed deeply.
A servant entered and spoke to the regent.
"What is it?" asked Helene, who was alarmed at the
slightest thing.
"Nothing, my child," said the duke; "it is only my
secretary, who wishes to see me on some pressing business."
" Shall I leave you ?"
" Yes; do me that favour for an instant."
Helene withdrew into her room.
At the same time the door opened and Dubois entered,
out of breath.
" Where do you come from in such a state ?"
" Parbleu ! from the Bastille."
252
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" And our prisoner ?"
"Well."
" Is everything arranged for the marriage."
"Yes, everything but the hour, which you did not
name."
" Let us say eight in the morning."
" At eight in the morning," said Dubois, calculating.
" Yes," what are you calculating?"
" I am thinking where he will be."
" Who ?"
"The prisoner."
" What ! the prisoner !"
"Yes; at eight o'clock he will be forty leagues from
Paris !"
" From Paris !"
" Yes; if he continues to go at the pace at which I saw
him set out."
" What do you mean ?"
" I mean, monseigneur, that there will be one thing only
wanting at the marriage ; the husband."
" Gaston ?"
" Has escaped from the Bastille half-an-hour ago."
"You lie, abbe; people do not escape from the Bas-
tille."
" I beg your pardon, monseigneur; people escape from
any place when they are condemned to death."
" He escaped, knowing that to-morrow he was to wed her
whom he loved ?"
" Listen, monseigneur, life is a charming thing, and we
all cling to it; then your son-in-law has a charming head
which he wishes to keep on his shoulders—what more
natural ?"
" And where is he ?"
" Perhaps I may be able to tell you to-morrow evening; at
present, all I know is that he is at some distance, and that I
will answer for it he will not return."
The regent became deeply thoughtful.
"Really, monseigneur, your na'ivetd causes me perpetual
astonishment; you must be strangely ignorant of the
human heart if you suppose that a man condemned to
tVE MUST NO TJUD GE 0 THEE SB Y 0 URSEL FES. 253
death would remain in prison when he had a chance of
escape."
" Oh ! Monsieur de Chanlay !" cried the regent.
" Eh, mon Dieu ! this chevalier has acted as the com-
monest workman would have done, and quite right too."
" Dubois ! and my daughter ?"
" Well, your daughter, monseigneur ?"
" It will kill her," said the regent.
" Oh no, monseigneur, not at all; when she finds out
what he is, she will be consoled, and you can marry her to
some small German or Italian prince—to the Duke of
Modena, for instance, whom Mademoiselle de Valois will
not have."
" Dubois ! and I meant to pardon him."
" He has done it for himself, monseigneur, thinking it
safer, and ma foi ! I should have done the same."
" Oh you; you are net noble, you had not taken an
oath."
" You mistake, monseigneur; I had taken an oath, to
prevent your highness from committing a folly, and I have
succeeded."
" Well, well, let us speak of it no more, not a word of this
before Helene—I will undertake to tell her."
" And I, to get back your son-in-law."
" No, no, he has escaped, let him profit by it."
As the regent spoke these words a noise was heard in
the neighbouring room, and a servant entering, hurriedly
announced,—
" Monsieur Gaston de Chanlay."
Dubois turned pale as death, and his face assumed an
expression of threatening anger. The regent rose in a
transport of joy, which brought a bright colour into his face
—there was as much pleasure in this face, rendered sublime
by confidence, as there was compressed fury in Dubois'
sharp and malignant countenance.
" Let him enter," said the regent.
"At least, give me time to go," said Dubois.
" Ah ! yes, he would recognise you."
Dubois retired with a growling noise, like a hyena disturbed
in its feast, or in its lair; he entered the next room. There
THE REGENTS DA UGHTER.
he sat down by a table on which was every material for
writing, and this seemed to suggest some new and terrible
idea, for his face suddenly lighted up.
He rang.
" Send for the portfolio which is in my carriage," said he
to the servant who appeared.
This order being executed at once, Dubois seized some
papers, wrote on them some words with an expression of
sinister joy, then, having ordered his carriage, drove to the
Palais-Royal.
Meanwhile the chevalier was led to the regent, and walked
straight up to him.
" How ! you here, monsieur !" said the duke, trying to look
surprised.
"Yes, monseigneur, a miracle has been worked in my
favour by La Jonquiere; he had prepared all for flight, he
asked for me under pretence of consulting me as to confes-
sions; then, when we were alone, he told me all and we
escaped together and in safety."
" And instead of flying, monsieur, gaining the frontier,
and placing yourself in safety, you are here at the peril of
your life."
" Monseigneur," said Gaston, blushing, " I must confess
that for a moment liberty seemed to me the most precious
and the sweetest thing the world could afford. The first
breath of air I drew seemed to intoxicate me, but I soon
reflected."
" On one thing, monsieur ?"
" On two, monseigneur."
" You thought of Helene, whom you were abandoning."
" And of my companions, whom I left under the axe."
"And then you decided?"
" That I was bound to their cause till our projects were
accomplished."
" Our projects 1"
"Yes, are they not yours as well as mine?"
'Listen, monsieur," said the regent; "I believe that man
must keep within the limits of his strength. There are things
which God seems to forbid him to execute; there are warn-
ings which tell him to renounce certain projects. I believe
WE MUST NOTJUDGE OTHERS BY OURSEL FES. 2$$
that it is sacrilege to despise these warnings, to remain deaf
to this voice; our projects have miscarried, monsieur, let us
think no more of them."
" On the contrary, monseigneur," said Gaston, sadly shaking
his head, " let us think of them more than ever."
"Butyou are furious, monsieur," said the regent, "to per-
sist in an undertaking which has now become so difficult that
it is almost madness."
" I think, monseigneur, of our friends arrested, tried, con-
demned ; M. d'Argenson told me so; of our friends who
are destined to the scaffold, and who can be saved only by
the death of the regent; of our friends who would say, if I
were to leave France, that I purchased my safety by their
•ruin, and that the gates of the Bastille were opened by my
revelations."
"Then, monsieur, to this point of honour you sacrifice
everything, even Helene ?"
" Monseigneur, if they be still alive I must save them."
" But if they be dead ?"
"Then it is another thing," replied Gaston; " then I must
revenge them."
"Really, monsieur," said the duke, "this seems to me a
somewhat exaggerated idea of heroism. It seems to me
that you have, in your own person, already paid your share.
Believe me, take the word of a man who is a good judge in
affairs of honour; you are absolved in the eyes of the whole
world, my dear Brutus."
"I am not in my own, monseigneur."
" Then you persist ?"
" More than ever; the regent must die, and," added he
in a hollow voice, " die he shall."
" But do you not first wish to see Mademoiselle de Cha-
verny ?" asked the regent.
"Yes, monseigneur, but first I must have your promise to
aid me in my project. Remember, monseigneur; there is
not an instant to lose ; my companions are condemned, as I
was. Tell me at once, before I see Helene, that you will
not abandon me. Let me make a new engagement with you
—I am a man; I love, and therefore I am weak. I shall
have to struggle against her tears and against my own weak-
256
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
ness ; monseigneur, I will only see Helene under the con-
dition that you will enable me to see the regent."
" And if I refuse that condition ?"
" Then, monseigneur, I will not see Helene ; I am dead
to her; it is useless to renew hope in her which she must
lose again, it is enough that she must weep for me once."
" And you would still persist ?"
"Yes, but with less chance."
" Then what would you do ?"
" Wait for the regent wherever he goes, and strike him
whenever I can find him."
" Think once more," said the duke.
" By the honour of my name," replied Gaston, " I once
more implore your aid, or I declare that I will find means to
dispense with it."
. " Well, monsieur, go and see Helene, and you shall have
my answer on your return."
" Where ?"
"In that room."
" And the answer shall be according to my desire ?"
" Yes."
Gaston went into Helene's room; she was kneeling before
a crucifix, praying that her lover might be restored to her.
At the noise which Gaston made in opening the door she
turned round.
Believing that God had worked a miracle, and uttering a
cry, she held out her arms towards the chevalier, but without
the strength to raise herself.
" Oh mon Dieu ! is it himself? is it his shade ?"
"It is myself, Helene," said the young man, darting
towards her, and grasping her hands.
" But how ? a prisoner this morning — free, this even-
ing?"
" I escaped, Helene."
" And then you thought of me, you ran to me, you would
not fly without me. Oh ! I recognise my Gaston there.
Well—I am ready, take me where you will—I am yours—I
am "
"Helene," said Gaston, "you are not the bride of an
fVE MUST NO 7 JUDGE O THERS BY 0 URSEL VES. 257
ordinary man; if I had been only like all other men you
would not have loved me/'
" Oh, no !''
" Well, Helene, to superior souls superior duties are
allotted, and consequently greater trials; before I can be
yours I have to accomplish the mission on which I came to
Paris; we have both a fatal destiny to fulfil. Our life or
death hangs on a single event which must be accomplished
tonight.1'
"What do you mean ? cried the young girl.
" Listen, Helene," replied Gaston, " if in four hours, that
is to say, by day-break, you have no news of me, do not
expect me, believe that all that has passed between us is but
a dream—and, if you can obtain permission to do so, come
again and see me in the Bastille."
Helene trembled, Gaston took her back to her prie-dieu,
where she knelt.
Then, kissing her on the forehead as a brother might have
done,—"Pray on, Helene said he, "for in praying for me
you pray also for Bretagne and for France." Then he rushed
out of the room.
" Alas ! alas !" murmured Helene, " save him, my God !
and what care I for the rest of the world."
Gaston was met by a servant who gave him a note, telling
him the duke was gone.
The note was as follows :
" There is a bal masque to-night at Monceaux; the regent
will be there. He generally retires towards one o'clock in
the morning into a favourite conservatory, which is situated
at the end of the gilded gallery. No one enters there ordi-
narily but himself, because this habit of his is known and
respected. The regent will be dressed in a black velvet
domino, on the left arm of which is embroidered a golden
bee. He hides this sign in a fold when he wishes to remain
incognito. The card I inclose is an ambassador's ticket.
With this you will be admitted, not only to the ball, but to
this conservatory, where you will appear to seek a private
interview. Use it for your encounter with the regent. My
carriage is below, in which you will find my own domino.
The coachman is at your orders."
17
s;S
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
On reading this note, which, as it were, brought him face
to face with the man he meant to assassinate, a cold perspira-
tion passed over Gaston's forehead, and he was obliged for a
moment to lean against a chair for support; but suddenly,
as if taking a violent resolution, he darted down the staircase,
jumped into the carriage, and cried—
" To Monceaux!"
Scarcely had he quitted the room, when a secret door
in the woodwork opened, and the duke entered. He
went to Helene's door, who uttered a cry of delight at
seeing him.
" Well," said the regent, sadly, " are you content.
Helene ?"
" Oh ! it is you, monseigneur ?"
"You see, my child, that my predictions are fulfilled—
believe me when I say, 1 Hope.'"
"Ah ! monseigneur, are you then an angel come down
to earth to stand to me in the place of the father whom I
have lost
" Alas," said the regent, smiling. " I am not an angel,
my dear Helene ; but such as I am, I will indeed be to you
a father, and a tender one."
Saying this, the regent took Helene's hand, and was about
to kiss it respectfully, but she raised her head and presented
her forehead to him.
" I see that you love him truly," said he.
" Monseigneur, I bless you."
" May your blessing bring me happiness," said the regent,
then, going down to his carriage—
" To the Palais Royal," said he, " but remember you have
only a quarter of an hour to drive to Monceaux."
The horses flew along the road.
As the carriage entered under the peristyle, a courier on
horseback was setting out.
Dubois, having seen him start, closed the window and went
back to his aoartments.
MONCEAUX',
259
CHAPTER XXXIII.
monceaux.
Meanwhile Gaston went towards Monceaux.
He had found the duke's domino and mask in the car-
riage. The mask was of black velvet—the domino of violet
satin. He put them both on, and suddenly remembered
that he was without arms.
He thought, however, he should easily procure some
weapon at Monceaux. As he approached, he found it was
not a weapon that he needed, but courage. There passed in
his mind a terrible contest. Pride and humanity struggled
against each other, and, from time to time, he represented
to himself his friends in prison, condemned to a cruel and
infamous death.
As the carriage entered the courtyard of Monceaux, he
murmured, " Already !"
However, the carriage stopped, the door was opened, he
must alight. The prince's private carriage and coachman
had been recognized, and all the servants overwhelmed him
with attentions.
Gaston did not remark it—a kind of mist passed before
his eyes—he presented his card.
It was the custom then for both men and women to be
masked: but it was more frequently the women than the
men who went to these re-unions unmasked. At this period
women spoke not only freely, but well, and the mask hid
neither folly nor inferiority of rank, for the women of that
day were all witty, and if they were handsome, they were
17—2
260
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
soon titled : witness, the Duchesse de Chateauroux and the
Comtesse Dubarry.
Gaston knew no one, but he felt instinctively that he was
amongst the most select society of the day. Among the
men were Novilles, Brancas, Broglie, St. Simon and Biron.
The women might be more mixed, but certainly not less
spirituelles, nor less elegant.
No one knew how to organize a fete like the regent. The
luxury of good taste, the profusion of flowers, the lights, the
princes and ambassadors, the charming and beautiful women
who surrounded him, all had their effect on Gaston, who now
recognized in the regent, not only a king, but a king at once
powerful, gay, amiable, beloved, and above all, popular and
national.
Gaston's heart beat when, seeking amongst these heads
the one for which his blows were destined, he saw a black
domino.
Without the mask which hid his face and concealed from
all eyes its changing expression, he would not have taken
four steps through the rooms without some one pointing him
out as an assassin.
Gaston could not conceal from himself that there was
something cowardly in coming to a prince, his host, to
change those brilliant lights into funeral torches, to stain
those dazzling tapestries with blood, to arouse the cry of
terror amid the joyous tumult of a fete—and at this
thought his courage failed him, and he stepped towards the
door.
" I will kill him outside," said he, "but not here.'
Then he remembered the duke's directions, his card
would open to him the isolated conservatory, and he mur-
mured—
" He foresaw that I should be a coward."
He approached a sort of gallery containing buffets where
the guests came for refreshment. He went also, not that he
was hungry or thirsty, but because he was unarmed. He
chose a long, sharp and pointed knife, and put it under his-
domino, where he was sure no one could see it.
" The likeness to Ravaillac will be complete," said he.
MONCEAUX.
At this moment, as Gaston turned, he heard a well-known
voice say—
" You hesitate ?"
Gaston opened his domino and showed the duke the knife
which it concealed.
" I see the knife glisten, but I also see the hand
tremble."
" Yes, monseigneur, it is true," said Gaston; " I hesitated,
I trembled, I felt inclined to fly—but thank God you are
here."
" And your ferocious courage ?" said the duke in a mock-
ing voice.
" It is not that I have lost it."
" What has become of it then ?"
" Monseigneur, I am under his roof."
"Yes; but in the conservatory you are not."
"Could you not show him to me first, that I might
accustom myself to his presence, that I may be inspired by
the hatred I bear him, for I do not know how to find him in
this crowd ?"
" Just now he was near you."
Gaston shuddered.
" Near me ?" said he.
" As near as I am," replied the duke, gravely.
" I will go to the conservatory, monseigneur."
"Go then."
" Yet a moment, monseigneur, that I may recover
myself."
" Very well, you know the conservatory is beyond that
gallery; stay, the doors are closed."
" Did you not say that with this card the servants would
open them to me ?"
" Yes; but it would be better to open them yourself—a
servant might wait for your exit. If you are thus agitated
before you strike the blow, what will it be afterwards ? Then
the regent probably will not fall without defending himself
—without a cry ; they will all run to him, you will be arrested,
and adieu your hope of the future. Think of Helene, who
waits for you."
262
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
It is impossible to describe what was passing in Gaston's
heart during this speech. The duke, however, watched its
effect upon his countenance.
"Well," said Gaston, "what shall I do ? advise me."
"When you are at the door of the conservatory, the one
which opens on to the gallery turning to the left—do you
know ?"
" Yes."
" Under the lock you will find a carved button—push it,
and the door will open, unless it be fastened within. But
the regent, who has no suspicion, will not take this precau-
tion. I have been there twenty times for a private audience.
If he be not there, wait for him. You will know him, if there,
by the black domino and the golden bee."
"Yes, yes ; I know," said Gaston; not knowing, however,
what he said.
" I do not reckon much on you this evening," replied the
duke.
" Ah ! monseigneur, the moment approaches which will
change my past life into a doubtful future, perhaps of
shame, at least of remorse."
" Remorse !" replied the duke. " When we perform an
action which we believe to be just, and commanded by con-
science, we do not feel remorse. Do you doubt the sanctity
of your cause ?'
"No, monseigneur, but it is easy for you to speak thus.
You have the idea—I, the execution. You are the head,
but I am the arm. Believe me, monseigneur," continued he
in a hollow voice, and choking with emotion, " it is a terrible
thing to kill a man who is before you defenceless—smiling
on his murderer. I thought myself courageous and strong ;
but it must be thus with every conspirator who undertakes
what I have done. In a moment of excitement, of pride, of
enthusiasm, or of hatred, we take a fatal vow ; then there is
a vast extent of time between us and our victim; but the
oath taken, the fever is calmed, the enthusiasm cools, the
hatred diminishes. Every day brings us nearer the end to
which we are tending, and then we shudder when we feel
what a crime we have undertaken. And yet inexorable time
MONCEA UX.
263
flows 011 j and at every hour which strikes, we see our victim
take another step, until at length the interval between us dis-
appears, and we stand face to face. Believe me, monseig-
neur, the bravest tremble—for murder is always murder.
Then we see that we are not the ministers of our consciences,
but the slaves of our oaths. We set out with head erect,
saying ' I am the chosen onewe arrive with head bowed
down, saying, ' I am accursed.'"
"There is yet time, monsieur."
" No, no) you well know, monseigneur, that fate urges
me onward. I shall accomplish my task, terrible though
it be. My heart will shudder, but my hand will still be
firm. Yes, I tell you, were it not for my friends, whose
lives hang on the blow I am about to strike, were there
no Hele'ne, whom I should cover with mourning, if not
with blood, oh I would prefer the scaffold, even the
scaffold, with all its shame, for that does not punish, it
absolves."
" Come," said the duke, " I see that though you tremble,
you will act."
" Do not doubt it, monseigneur ; pray for me, for in half
an hour all will be over."
The duke gave an involuntary start; however, approving
Gaston's determination, he once more mixed with the
crowd.
Gaston found an open window with a balcony. He
stepped crut for a moment to cool the fever in his veins, but
it was in vain ; the flame which consumed him was not to
be extinguished thus.
He heard one o'clock strike.
"Now," he murmured, "the time is come, and I cannot
draw back. My God, to thee I recommend my soul—
Helene, adieu !"
Then, slowly but firmly, he went to the door, and pressing
the button, it opened noiselessly before him.
A mist came before his eyes. He seemed in a new
world. The music sounded like a distant and charming
melody. Around him breathed the sweetly perfumed flowers,
and alabaster lamps half hidden in luxuriant foliage shed a
264
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
delicious twilight over the scene, whilst through the inter-
lacing leaves of tropical plants could just be seen the leafless
gloomy trees beyond, and the snow covering the earth as
with a winding sheet. Even the temperature was changed,
and a sudden shiver passed through his veins. The contrast
of all this verdure, these magnificent and blossoming orange
trees—these magnolias, splendid with the waxy blooms, with
the gilded saloons he had left, bewildered him. It seemed
difficult to connect the thought of murder with this fair-
smiling and enchanted scene. The soft gravel yielded to
his tread, and plashing fountains murmured forth a plain-
tive and monotonous harmony.
Gaston was almost afraid to look for a human form. At
length he glanced round.
Nothing ! He went on.
At length, beneath a broad-leaved palm, surrounded by
blooming rhododendrons, he saw the black phantom seated
on a bank of moss, his back turned towards the side from
whence he was approaching.
The blood rushed to Gaston's cheeks, his hand trembled,
and he vainly sought for some support.
The domino did not move.
Gaston involuntarily drew back. All at once he forced
his rebellious limbs to move on, and his trembling fingers to
grasp the knife they had almost abandoned, and he stepped
towards the regent, stifling a sob which was about to escape
him.
At this moment the figure moved, and Gaston saw the
golden bee, which seemed like a burning gem before his
eyes.
The domino turned towards Gaston, and as he did so,
the young man's arm grew rigid, the foam rose to his
lips, his teeth chattered, for a vague suspicion entered his
breast.
Suddenly he uttered a piercing cry. The domino had
risen, and was unmasked—his face was that of the Due
d'Olivares.
Gaston, thunderstruck, remained livid and mute. The
regent and the duke were one and the same. The regent
MONCEAUX.
265
retained his calm majestic attitude; looked at the hand
which' held the knife, and the knife fell. Then, looking
at his intended murderer with a smile at once sweet and
sad, Gaston fell down before him like a tree cut by the
axe.
Not a word had been spoken; nothing was heard but
Gaston's broken sobs, and the water of the fountains plash-
ing monotonously as it fell.
266
THE REGENT'S DAVGHTEk.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
the pardon.
" Rise, monsieur," said the regent.
" No, monseigneur," cried Gaston, bowing his forehead
to the ground, " oh, no, it is at your feet that I should
die."
" Die ! Gaston 1 you see that you are pardoned."
" Oh, monseigneur, punish me, in heaven's name 3 for you
must indeed despise me if you pardon me."
" But have you not guessed ?" asked the regent.
" What ?"
" The reason why I pardon you."
Gaston cast a retrospective glance upon the past, his sad
and solitary youth, his brother's despairing death, his love
for Helene, those days that seemed so long away from her,
those nights that passed so quickly beneath the convent
window, his journey to Paris, the duke's kindness to the
young girl, and last, this unexpected clemency 3 but in all
this he beheld nothing, he divined nothing.
" Thank Helene," said the duke, who saw that Gaston
vainly sought the cause of what had happened3 "thank
Helene, for it is she who saves your life."
"Helene! monseigneur."
" I cannot punish my daughter's affianced husband."
" Helene, your daughter ! oh, monseigneur, and I would
have killed you !"
"Yes, remember what you said just now. We set out
THE PARDON.
267
the chosen one, we return the murderer. And sometime^
you see more than a murderer—a parricide—for I am
almost your father," said the duke, holding out his hand to
Gaston.
" Monseigneur, have mercy on me."
"You have a noble heart, Gaston."
"And you, monseigneur, are a noble prince. Hence-
forth I am yours body and soul. Every drop of my
blood for one tear of Helene's, for one wish of your high-
ness'."
" Thanks, Gaston," said the duke, smiling, " I will repay
your devotion by your happiness."
" I, happy, through your highness ! Ah ! monseigneur,
God revenges himself in permitting you to return me so
much good for the evil I intended you."
The regent smiled at this effusion of simple joy, when the
door opened and gave entrance to a green domino.
"Captain la Jonquiere !" cried Gaston.
" Dubois !" murmured the duke, frowning.
" Monseigneur," said Gaston, hiding his face, in his hand
pale with affright; " monseigneur, I am lost. It is no longer
I who must be saved. I forgot my honour, I forgot my
friends."
"Your friends, monsieur?" said the duke, coldly. "I
thought you no longer made common cause with such
men."
" Monseigneur, you said I had a noble heart; believe me
when I say that Pontcalec, Montlouis, Du Couedic, and
TalhoUet have hearts as noble as my own."
" Noble !" repeated the duke, contemptuously.
"Yes, monseigneur, I repeat what I said."
"And do you know what they would have done, my
poor child? you, who were their blind tool, the arm that
they placed at the end of their thoughts. These noble
hearts would have delivered their country to the stranger,
they would have erased the name of France from the list
of sovereign nations. Nobles, they were bound to set an
example of courage and loyalty—they have given that of
perfidy and cowardice; well, you do not reply—you lower
268
THE REGENT'S DA IfGHTER.
your eyes ; if it be your poniard you seek, it is at your feet;
take it up, there is yet time."
" Monsieur," said Gaston, clasping his hands, " I renounce
my ideas of assassination, I detest them, and I ask your
pardon for having entertained them; but if you will not
save my friends, I beg of you at least to let me perish with
them. If I live when they die, my honour dies with them;
think of it, monseigneur, the honour of the name your
daughter is to bear."
The regent bent his head as he replied:
" It is impossible, monsieur; they have betrayed France ;
and they must die."
" Then I die with them," said Gaston, " for I also have
betrayed France, and, moreover, would have murdered your
highness."
The regent looked at Dubois; the glance they exchanged
did not escape Gaston. He understood that he had
dealt with a false La Jonquiere as well as a false Due
d'Olivares.
"No," said Dubois, addressing Gaston, "you shall not die
for that, monsieur; but you must understand that there are
crimes which the regent has neither the power nor the right
to pardon."
" But he pardoned me !" exclaimed Gaston.
"You are Helene's husband," said the duke.
" You mistake, monseigneur; I am not, and I never shall
be; and as such a sacrifice involves the death of him who
makes it, I shall die, monseigneur."
" Bah !" said Dubois, " no one dies of love nowadays; it
was very well in the time of M. d'Urfe and Mademoiselle de
Scuderi."
" Perhaps you are right, monsieur; but in all times men
die by the dagger;" and Gaston stooped and picked up the
knife with an expression which was not to be mistaken.
Dubois did not move.
The regent made a step.
"Throw down that weapon, monsieur," said he, with
hauteur.
Gaston placed the point against his breast.
" Throw it down, I say," repeated the regent.
THE PARDON.
269
" The life of my friends, monseigneur," said Gaston.
The regent turned again to Dubois, who smiled a sardonic
smile.
" 'Tis well," said the regent, "they shall live."
"Ah! monsieur," said Gaston, seizing the duke's hand,
and trying to raise it to his lips, "you are the image of God
on earth."
"Monseigneur, you commit an irreparable fault," said
Dubois.
" What !" cried Gaston, astonished, " you are then "
"The Abbe Dubois, at your service," said the false La
Jonquiere, bowing.
"Oh ! monseigneur, listen only to your own heart—I
implore."
" Monseigneur, sign nothing," said Dubois.
" Sign ! monseigneur,' sign !" repeated Gaston, " you
promised they should live, and I know your promise is
sacred."
" Dubois, I shall sign," said the duke.
" Has your highness decided ?"
" I have given my word."
"Very well; as you please."
"At once, monseigneur, at once; I know not why, but
I am alarmed in spite of myself; monseigneur, their pardon,
I implore you."
" Eh ! monsieur," said Dubois, " since his highness has
promised, what signify five minutes more or less ?"
The regent looked uneasily at Dubois.
"Yes, you are right," said he, "this very, moment;
your portfolio, abbe, and quick, the young man is
impatient."
Dubois bowed assent, called a servant, got his portfolio,
and presented to the regent a sheet of paper, who wrote an
order on it and signed it.
"Now a courier."
" Oh, no ! monseigneur, it is useless."
"Why so ?"
"A courier would never go quickly enough. I will go
myself, if your highness will permit me; every moment
I gain will save those unhappy men an age of torture."
270
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
Dubois frowned.
" Yes ! yes ! you are right,"said the regent, " go yourself;"
and, he added in a low voice, " and do not let the order
leave your hands."
" But, monseigneur," said Dubois, " you are more
impatient than the young man himself; you forget that
if he goes thus there is some one in Paris who will think
he is dead."
These words struck Gaston, and recalled to him Helene,
whom he had left, expecting him from one moment to
another, in the fear of some great event, and who would
never forgive him should he leave Paris without seeing her.
In an instant his resolution was taken; he kissed the
duke's hand, took the order, and was going, when the
regent said
"Not a word to Helene of what I told you; the only
recompense I ask of you is to leave me the pleasure of
telling her she is my child."
" Your highness shall be obeyed," said Gaston, moved to
tears, and again bowing, he hastily went out.
" This way," said Dubois; " really, you look as if you
had assassinated some one, and you will be arrested ; cross
this grove, at the end is a path which will lead you to the
street."
" Oh, thank you ; you understand that delay "
" Might be fatal. That is why," added he to himself, " I
have shown you the longest way—go."
When Gaston had disappeared, Dubois returned to the
regent.
" What is the matter, monseigneur ?" asked he ; " you
seem uneasy."
"I am."
« And why ?"
" You made no resistance to my performing a good action
—this frightened me."
Dubois smiled.
"Dubois," said the duke, "you are plotting some-
thing."
"No, monseigneur, it is all arranged."
" What have you done ?"
THE PARDON.
Vjl
" Monseigneur, I know you."
" Well."
" I knew what would happen. That you would never be
satisfied till you had signed the pardon of all these fellows."
"Go on."
"Well, I also have sent a courier."
" You !"
"Yes, I; have I not the right to send couriers?"
"Yes; but, in heaven's name, tell me what order your
courier carried."
" An order for their execution."
" And he is gone ?"
Dubois took out his watch.
"Two hours ago," said he.
" Wretch !"
" Ah, monseigneur ! always big words. Every man to his
trade, save M. de Chanlay, if you like ; he is your son-in-law;
as for me, I save you."
"Yes; but I know De Chanlay. He will arrive before
the courier."
"No, monseigneur."
" Two hours are nothing to a man like him; he will soon
have made them up."
"Were my courier only two hours in advance," said
Dubois, " De Chanlay might overtake him, but he will Le
three."
" How so ?"
" Because the worthy young man is in love; and if I
reckon an hour for taking leave of your daughter, I am sure
it is not too much"
"Serpent! I understand the meaning of what you s id
just now."
" He was in an excess of enthusiasm—he might have for-
gotten his love. You know my principle, monseigneur :
distrust first impulses, they are always good."
" It is an infamous principle."
" Monseigneur, either one is a diplomatist or one is
not."
" Well," said the regent, stepping towards the door, " I
shall go and warn him."
•272
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" Monseigneur," said Dubois, stopping the duke with an
accent of extreme resolution, and taking a paper out of his
portfolio, already prepared, " if you do so, have the kind-
ness in that case to accept my resignation at once. Joke,
if you will, but, as Horace said 'est modus in rebus.' He
was a great as well as a courteous man. Come, come, mon-
seigneur, a truce to politics for this evening—go back to the
ball, and to-morrow evening all will be settled — France
will be rid of four of her worst enemies, and you will retain
a son-in-law whom I greatly prefer to M. de Riom, I assure
you."
And with these words they returned to the ball-room,
Dubois joyous and triumphant, the duke sad and thought-
ful, but convinced that his minister was right.
THE LAST INTERVIEW,
m
CHAPTER XXXV.
the last interview.
Gaston left the conservatory, his heart bounding with joy.
The enormous weight which had oppressed him since the
commencement of the conspiracy, and which Helene's love
had scarcely been able to alleviate, now seemed to disappear
as at the touch of an angel.
To dreams of vengeance, dreams both terrible and bloody,
succeeded visions of love and glory. Helene was not only
a charming and a loving woman, she was also a princess of
the blood royal—one of those divinities whose tenderness
men would purchase with their hearts' blood, if they did not,
being after all weak as mortals, give this inestimable tender-
ness away.
And Gaston felt revive within his breast the slumbering
instinct of ambition. What a brilliant fortune was his—one
to be envied by such men as Richelieu and Lauzun. No
Louis XIV., imposing, as on Lauzun, exile or the abandon-
ment of his mistress — no irritated father combating the
pretensions of a simple gentleman—but, on the contrary,
a powerful friend, greedy of love, longing to prove his affec-
tion for his pure and noble daughter. A holy emulation
between the daughter and the son-in-law to make them-
selves more worthy of so just a prince, so mild a con-
queror.
• In a quarter of an hour Gaston had gained the Rue
du Bac.
18
274 THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
The door opened before him—a cry was heard—Helene,
at the window watching for his return, had recognised the
carriage, and ran joyously to meet him.
" Saved !" cried Gaston, seeing her; " saved ! my friends,
I—you—all—saved !"
" Oh, God !" cried Helene, turning pale, " you have killed
him, then ?"
" No, no ; thank God ! Oh ! Helene, what a heart, what
a man is this regent \f Oh, love him well, Helene; you will
love him, will you not ?"
" Explain yourself, Gaston."
" Come, and let us speak of ourselves; I have but a few
moments to give you, Helene; but the duke will tell you
all."
" One thing before all," said Helene, " what is your
fate ?"
" The brightest in the world, Helene—your husband, rich
and honoured. Helene, I am wild with joy."
4 And you remain with me at last ?"
" No ; I leave you, Helene."
" Oh, heavens !"
" But to return."
" Another separation !"
" Three days at the most—three days only. I go to bring
blessings on your name, on mine, on that of our protector,
our friend."
" Where are you going ?"
"To Nantes !"
"To Nantes!"
" Yes. This order is the pardon of Pontc&lec, Montlouis,
and Talhouet and Du Couedic. They are condemned to
death, and they will owe me their lives. Oh, do not keep
me here, Helene; think of what you suffered just now,
when you were watching for me."
" And, consequently, what I am to suffer again."
" No, my Helene; for this time there is no fear, no
obstacle; this time you are sure of my return."
"Gaston, shall I never see you, but at rare intervals and
for a few minutes ? Ah ! Gaston, I have so much need of
happiness."
THE LAST INTERVIEW.
275
" You shall be happy, Helene, be assured."
" My heart sinks."
" Ah ! when you know all!"
" But tell me at once."
" Helene, the only thing wanting to my happiness is the
permission to fall at your feet and tell you all—but I have
promised—nay more, I have sworn."
"Always some secret!"
" This, at least, is a joyful one."
" Oh, Gaston, Gaston, I tremble."
" Look at me, Helene; can you fear when you see the
joy that sparkles in my eyes ?"
" Why do you not take me with you, Gaston ?"
" Helene !"
" I beg of you to let us go together."
" Impossible."
" Why ?"
" Because, firstly, I must be at Nantes in twenty
hours."
"I will follow you, even should I die with fatigue."
" Then, because you are no longer your own mistress;
you have here a protector, to whom you owe respect and
obedience."
"The duke?"
" Yes ; the duke. Oh, when you know what he has done
for me—for us." .
" Let us leave a letter for him, and he will forgive us."
" No, no; he will say we are ungrateful; and he would
be right. No,' Helene ; while I go to Bretagne, swift as a
saving angel, you shall remain here and hasten the prepara-
tions for our marriage. And when I return, I shall at once
demand my wife j at your feet I shall bless you for the
happiness and the honour you bestow on me."
"You leave me, Gaston ?" cried Helene, in a voice of
distress.
" Oh, not thus, Helene, not thus ; I cannot leave you so.
Oh, no—be joyous, Helene; smile on me; say to me—in
giving me your hand—that hand so pure and faithful—' Go*
Gaston—go— for it is your duty."
18—2
276
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
"Yes, my friend," said Helene, "perhaps I ought to
speak thus, but I have not the strength. Gaston, forgive
me."
" Oh, Helene, when I am so joyful."
"Gaston, it is beyond my power; remember that you
take with you the half of my life."
Gaston heard the clock strike three and started.
" Adieu, Helene," said he.
" Adieu," murmured she.
Once more he pressed her hand and raised it to his lips,
then dashed down the staircase towards the door.
But he heard Helene's sobs.
Rapidly he remounted the staircase and ran to her. She
was standing at the door of the room he had just left.
Gaston clasped her in his arms, and she hung weeping upon
his neck.
" Oh, mon Dieu!" cried she, " you leave me again,
Gaston; listen to what I say, we shall never meet more."
" My poor Helene," cried the young man, " you are
mad."
" Despair has made me so."
And her tears ran down her cheeks.
All at once she seemed to make a violent effort, and
pressing her lips on those of her lover, she clasped him
tightly to her breast, then quickly repulsing him—
" Now go, Gaston," said she, " now I can die."
Gaston replied by passionate caresses. The clock struck
the half hour.
" Another half hour to make up."
" Adieu, adieu, Gaston ; you are right, you should already
be away."
" Adieu for a time."
" Adieu, Gaston."
And Helene returned to the pavilion. Gaston procured
a horse, saddled, mounted, and left Paris by the same gate
by which he had entered some days previously.
NANTES,
277
CHAPTER XXXVI.
nantes.
The commission named by Dubois was to be permanent.
Invested with unlimited powers, which in certain cases
means that the decision is settled beforehand, they be-
sieged the earth, supported by strong detachments of
troops.
Since the arrest of the four gentlemen, Nantes, terrified at
first, had risen in their favour. The whole of Bretagne
awaited a revolt, but in the meanwhile was quiet.
However, the trial was approaching. On the eve of the
public audience, Pontcalec held a serious conversation with
his friends.
" Let us consider,1' said he, " whether in word or deed we
have committed any imprudence."
"No," said the other three.
" Has any one of you imparted our projects to his wife?
his brother, a friend ? Have you, Montlouis ?"
"No, on my honour."
"You, Talhouet?"
"No."
"You, Couedic?"
" No."
" Then they have neither proof nor accusation against
us. No one has surprised us, no one wishes us harm."
"But," said Montlouis, "meanwhile we shall be tried."
" On what grounds ?"
278
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
"Oh, secret information," said Talhouet, smiling.
"Very secret," said Du Couedic, " since they do not
breathe a word."
" Ah, one fine night they will force us to escape, that they
may not be obliged to liberate us some fine day."
"I do not believe it," said Montlouis, who had always
been the most desponding, perhaps because he had the most
at stake, having a young wife and two children who adored
him. " I do not believe it. I have seen Dubois in Eng-
land. I have talked with him; his face is like a ferret's,
licking his lips when thirsty. Dubois is thirsty, and we
are taken. Dubois's thirst will be slaked by our blood."
" But," said Du Couedic, " there is the parliament of
Bretagne."
"Yes, to look on, whilst we lose our heads."
There was only one of the four who smiled; that was
Pontcalec.
" My friends," said he, " take courage. If Dubois be
thirsty, so much the worse for Dubois. He will go mad, that
is all; but this time I answer for it he shall not taste our
blood."
And, indeed, from the beginning the task of the commis-
sion seemed difficult. No confessions, no proofs, no wit-
nesses. Bretagne laughed in the commissioners' faces, and
when she did not laugh, she threatened. The president
despatched a courier to Paris to explain the state of things,
and get further instructions.
" Judge by their projects," said Dubois; "they may have
done little, because they were prevented, but they intended
much, and the intention in matters of rebellion is equivalent
to the act."
Armed with this terrible weapon, the commission soon
overthrew the hopes of the province. There was a terrible
audience, in which the accused commenced with raillery and
ended with accusation. On re-entering the prison, Pont-
calec congratulated them on the truths they had told the
judge.
" Nevertheless," said Montlouis, " it is a bad affair.
Bretagne does not revolt."
"She waits our condemnation," said Talhouet,
NANTES.
m
" Then she will revolt somewhat late," said Montlouis.
" But our condemnation may not take place," said Pont-
calec. " Say, frankly, we are guilty, but without proofs who
will dare to sentence us ? The commission ?"
" No, not the commission, but Dubois."
" I have a great mind to do one thing," said Du Couedic.
"What ?"
" At the first audience to cry, 1 Bretagne to the rescue !'
Each time we have seen faces of friends; we should be
delivered or killed, but at least it would be decided. I
should prefer death to this suspense."
" But why run the risk of being wounded by some satellite
of justice ?"
"Because such a wound might be healed; not so the wound
the executioner would make."
" Oh !" said Pontcalec, " you will have no more to do
with the executioner than I shall."
" Always the prediction," said Montlouis. " You know
that I have no faith in it."
" You are wrong."
" This is sure, my friends," said Pontcalec. " We shall
be exiled, we shall be forced to embark, and I shall be lost
on the way. This is my fate. But yours-may be different.
Ask to go by a different vessel from me; or there is another
chance. I may fall from the deck, or slip on the steps; at
least, I shall die by the water. You know that is certain.
I might be condemned to death, taken to the very scaffold,
but if the scaffold were on dry ground I should be as easy as
I am now."
His tone of confidence gave them courage. They even
laughed at the rapidity with which the deliberations were
carried on. They did not know that Dubois sent courier
after courier from Paris to hasten them.
At length the commission declared themselves suffi-
ciently enlightened, and retired to deliberate in secret
session.
Never was there a more stormy discussion. History has
penetrated the secrets of these deliberations, in which some
of the least bold or least ambitious counsellors revolted
against the idea of condemning these gentlemen on presump-
280
THE REGENTS DA UGHTER.
tions which were supported solely by the intelligence trans-
mitted to them by Dubois; but the majority were devoted
to Dubois, and the committee came to abuse and quarrels,
and almost to blows.
At the end of a sitting of eleven hours' duration, the majority
declared their decision.
The commissioners associated sixteen others of the
contumacious gentlemen with the four chiefs, and de-
clared :
" That the accused, found guilty of criminal projects, of
treason, and of felonious intentions, should be beheaded :
those present, in person, those absent, in effigy. That the
walls and fortifications of their castles should be demolished,
their patents of nobility annulled, and their forests cut down
to the height of nine feet."
An hour after the delivery of this sentence, an order
was given to the usher to announce it to the pri-
soners.
The sentence had been given after the stormy sitting of
which we have spoken, and in which the accused had
experienced such lively marks of sympathy from the public.
And so, having beaten the judges on all the counts of the
indictment, never had they been so full of hope.
They were seated at supper in their common room, call-
ing to mind all the details of the sitting, when suddenly
the door opened, and in the shade appeared the pale and
stern form of the usher.
The solemn apparition changed, on the instant, into anxious
palpitations their pleasant conversation.
The usher advanced slowly, whilst the gaoler remained at
the door, and the barrels of muskets were seen shining in the
gloom of the corridor.
" What is your will, sir ?" asked Pontcalec, " and what
signifies this deadly paraphernalia ?"
" Gentlemen," said the usher, " I bear the sentence of the
tribunal. On your knees and listen."
" How?" said Montlouis, "it is only sentences of death that
must be heard kneeling.''
" On your knees, gentlemen," replied the usher.
"Let the guilty and the base kneel," said Du Couedic;
NANTES.
281
"we are gentlemen, and innocent. We will hear our sen-
tences standing."
" As you will, gentlemen; but uncover yourselves, for I
S^peak in the king's name."
\ Talhouet, who alone had his hat on, removed it. The
fou^ gentlemen stood erect and bare-headed, leaning on each
other, with pale faces and a smile upon their lips.
The usher read the sentence through, uninterrupted by a
murmur, or by a single gesture of surprise.
When he had finished—
"Why was I told," asked Pontcalec, "to declare the
designs of Spain against prance, and that I should be libe-
rated? Spain was an enemy's country. I declared what
I believed I knew of her projects ; and, lo ! I am condemned.
Why is this ? Is the commission, then, composed of cowards
who spread snares for the accused ?"
The usher made no answer.
" But," added Montlouis, " the regent spared all Paris,
implicated in the conspiracy of Cellamare; not a drop of
blood was shed. Yet those who wished to carry off the
regent, perhaps to kill him, were at least as guilty as men
against whom no serious accusations even could be made.
Are we then chosen to pay for the indulgence shown to the
capital?"
The usher made no reply.
" You forget one thing, Montlouis," said Du Couedic,
" the old family hatred against Bretagne; and the regent,
to make people believe that he belongs to the family, wishes
to prove that he hates us. It is not we, personally, who are
struck at; it is a province, which for three hundred years
has claimed in vain its privileges and its rights, and which
they wish to find guilty in order ■ to have done with it
for ever."
The usher preserved a religious silence.
"Enough," said Talhouet, "we are condemned. 'Tis well.
Now, have we, or have we not, the right of appeal?"
" No, gentlemen," said the usher.
" Then you can retire," said Couedic.
The usher bowed and withdrew, followed by his escort, and
282
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
the prison door, heavy and clanging, closed once more upon
the four gentlemen.
"Well!" said Montlouis, when they were again alone.
"Well, we are condemned," said Pontcalec. "I never
said there would be no sentence ; I only said it would not
be carried into execution."
"I am of Pontcalec's opinion," said Talhouet. "What
they have done is but to terrify the province and test its
patience."
"Besides," said Du Couedic, "they will not execute us
without the regent's ratification of the sentence. Now, with-
out an extraordinary courier, it will take two days to reach
Paris, one to examine into the affair, and two to return,
altogether five days. We have, then, five days before us;
and what may not happen in five days ? The province will
rise on hearing of our doom "
Montlouis shook his head.
" Besides, there is Gaston," said Pontcalec, " whom you
always forget."
" I am much afraid that Gaston has been arrested," said
Montlouis. " I know Gaston, and were he at liberty, we
should have heard of him ere now."
"Prophet of evil," said Talhouet, "at least you will not
deny that we have some days before us."
" Who knows?" said Montlouis.
"And the waters?" said Pontcalec; "the waters? You
always forget that I can only perish by the waters."
"Well, then, let us be seated again," said Du Couedic,
" and a last glass to our healths."
" There is no more wine," said Montlouis; " 'tis an
evil omen."
" Bah ! there is more in the cellar," said Pontcalec.
And he called the gaoler.
The man, on entering, found the four friends at table; he
looked at them in astonishment.
"Well, what is there new, Master Christopher?" said
Pontcalec.
Christopher came from Guer, and had a particular
respect for Pontcalec, whose uncle Crysogon had been his
seigneur.
NANTES.
283
" Nothing but what you know," he replied.
" Then go and fetch some wine."
" They wish to deaden their feelings," said the gaoler to
himself; " poor gentlemen."
Montlouis alone heard Christopher's remark, and he
smiled sadly.
An instant afterwards they heard steps rapidly approach-
ing their room. The door opened, and Christopher re-
appeared without any bottle in his hand.
"Well," said Pontcalec, "where is the wine ?"
" Good news," cried Christopher, without answering Pont-
calec's inquiry, " good news, gentlemen."
" What ?" said Montlouis, starting. " Is the regent—
dead ?"
" And Bretagne in revolt ?" asked Du Couedic.
" No. I could not call that good news."
" Well, what is it then ?" said Pontcalec.
" Monsieur de Chateauneuf has just ordered back
to their barracks the hundred and fifty men who were
under arms in the market-place, which had terrified every-
body."
" Ah," said Montlouis, " I begin to believe it will not take
place this evening."
At this moment the clock struck six.
" Well," said Pontcalec, " good news is no reason for our
remaining thirsty; go and fetch our wine."
Christopher went out, and returned in ten minutes with a
bottle.
The friends who were still at table filled their glasses.
" To Gaston's health," said Pontcalec, exchanging a
meaning glance with his friends, to whom alone this toast
was comprehensible.
And they emptied their glasses, all except Montlouis, who
stopped as he was lifting his to his lips.
" Well, what is it ?" said Pontcalec.
"The drum," said Montlouis, stretching out his hand
in the direction where he heard the sound.
" Well," said Talhouet, "did you not hear what Christopher
said ? it is the troops returning."
284
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
" On the contrary, it is the troops going out; that is not
a retreat, but the generate."
" The gdndrale !" said Talhouet, " what on earth can that
mean ?"
"No good," said Montlouis, shaking his head.
" Christopher !" said Pontcalec, turning to the gaoler.
" Yes, gentlemen, I will find out what it is," said he, " and
be back in an instant."
He rushed out of the room, but not without carefully
shutting the door behind him.
The four friends remained in anxious silence. After a lapse
of ten minutes the door opened, and the gaoler reappeared,
pale with terror.
" A courier has just entered the castle court," said he;
" he comes from Paris, he has delivered his despatches, and
immediately the guards were doubled, and the drums beat
in all the barracks."
" Oh, oh," said Montlouis, " that concerns us."
" Some one is ascending the stairs," said the gaoler, more
pale and trembling than those to whom he spoke. In fact,
they heard the butt ends of the muskets clanging on the
stones of the corridor, and at the same time several voices
were heard speaking hastily.
The door opened, and the usher reappeared.
"Gentlemen," said he, "how long do you desire to
set your worldly affairs in order, and to undergo your
sentence ?"
A profound terror froze even the hearers.
" I desire," said Montlouis, " time for the sentence to
reach Paris and return, approved by the regent."
" I," said Talhouet, " only desire the time necessary for
the commission to repent of its iniquity."
" As for me," said Du Couedic, " I wish for time for the
minister at Paris to commute the sentence into eight days'
imprisonment, which we deserve for having acted somewhat
thoughtlessly."
" And you," said the usher gravely, to Pontcalec, who was
silent, " what do you ask ?"
" I," said Pontcalec calmly, " I demand nothing."
" Then, gentlemen," said the usher, " this is the answer
NANTES.
285
of the commission : you have two hours at your disposal to
arrange your spiritual and temporal affairs; it is now half-
past six, in two hours and a half you must be on the Place
du Bouffay, where the execution will take place."
There was a profound silence; the bravest felt fear seizing
the very roots of their hair.
The usher retired without any one having made any
answer; only the condemned looked at each other, and
pressed each other's hands.
They had two hours.
Two hours, in the ordinary course of life, seem sometimes
an age, at others two hours are but a moment.
The priests arrived, after them the soldiers, then the
executioners.
The situation was appalling. Pontcalec, alone, did not
belie himself. Not that the others wanted courage, but
they wanted hope; still Pontcalec reassured them by the
calmness with which he addressed, not only the priests, but
the executioners themselves.
They made the preparations for that terrible process
called the toilet of the condemned. The four sufferers
must proceed to the scaffold dressed in black cloaks, in
order that in the eyes of the people,from whom they always
feared some tumult, they might be confounded with the
priests who exhorted them.
Then the question of tying their hands was discussed—
an important question.
Pontcalec answered with his smile of sublime con-
fidence.
" Oh, leave us at least our hands free; we will go without
disturbance."
" That has nothing to do with us," replied the executioner
who was attending to Pontcalec; " unless by special order,
the rules are the same for all sufferers."
" And who gives these orders ?" said Pontcalec, laughing,
" the king ?"
"No, marquis," replied the executioner, astonished by
such unexampled presence of mind, " not the king, but our
chief."
" And where is your chief?"
286
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" That is he, talking with the gaoler Christopher."
" Call him then," said Pontcalec.
" Ho, Monsieur Waters !" cried the executioner, " please
to come this way; there is one of these gentlemen asking
for you."
A thunderbolt falling in the midst of them would not
have produced a more terrible effect upon the four gentle-
men than did this name.
What did you say?" cried Pontcalec, shaking with
affright; "what did you say? What name did you pro-
nounce ?"
" Waters, our chief."
Pontcalec, pale and overcome, sank upon a chair, casting
an unutterable glance upon his affrighted companions. No
one around them understood this sudden despair, which
so rapidly succeeded to so high a confidence.
" Well ?" said Montlouis, addressing Pontcalec in a tone
of tender reproach.
"Yes, gentlemen, you were right," said Pontcalec; "but
I also was right to believe in this prediction, for it will be
accomplished, as the others were. Only this time I yield,
and confess that we are lost."
And by a spontaneous movement the four gentlemen
threw themselves into each other's arms with prayers to
heaven.
"What do you order?" asked the executioner.
" It is useless to tie their hands if they will give their
words of honour; they are soldiers and gentlemen/'
THE TRAGEDY OF NANTES.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
the tragedy of nantes.
Meanwhile Gaston posted along the road to Nantes, leaving
behind him all postilions, whose place, then as now, was to
hold the horses instead of urging them on.
He had already passed Sevres and Versailles, and on
arriving at Rambouillet just at daybreak, he saw the inn-
keeper and some postilions gathered round a horse which
had just been bled. The horse was lying stretched on
its side, in the middle of the street, breathing with diffi-
culty.
Gaston at first paid no attention to all this; but as he
was mounting himself, he heard one of the by-standers
say—
" If he goes on at that pace he will kill more than one
between this and Nantes."
Gaston was on the point of starting, but struck by a
sudden and terrible idea, he stopped and signed to the inn-
keeper to come to him. T
The inn-keeper approached.
" Who has passed by here ?" asked Gaston, " going at
such a pace as to have put that poor animal in such a
state ?"
" A courier of the minister's," answered the inn-keeper.
"A courier of the minister's!" exclaimed Gaston, "and
coming from Paris ?"
" From Paris."
288
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
" How long has he passed, more or less ?"
" About two hours."
Gaston uttered a low cry which was like a groan. He
knew Dubois—Dubois, who had tricked him under the dis-
guise of La Jonquiere. The good will of the minister re-
c.urred to his mind and frightened him. Why this courier
despatched post haste just two hours before himself?".
" Oh ! I was too happy," thought the young man, " and
Helene was right when she told me she had a presentiment
of some great misfortune. Oh,* I will overtake this courier,
and learn the message that he bears, or perish in the
attempt."
And he shot off like an arrow.
But with all these doubts and interrogations he had lost
ten minutes more, so that on arriving at the first post
station he was still two hours behind. This time the
courier's horse had held out, and it was Gaston's which was
ready to drop. The inn-keeper tried to make some remarks,
but Gaston dropped two or three louis and set off again at
a gallop.
At the next posting-house he had gained a few minutes,
and that was ail. The courier who was before him had
not slackened his pace. Gaston increased his own; but
this frightful rapidity redoubled the young man's fever and
mistrust.
" Oh !" said he, " I will arrive at the same time that
he does, if I am unable to precede him." And he doubled
his speed, and spurred on his horse, which, at every
station, stopped dripping with blood and sweat, or tumbled
down exhausted. At every station he learnt that the
courier had passed almost as swiftly as himself, but he
always gained some few minutes, and that sustained his
strength.
Those whom he passed upon the way, leaving them far
behind, pitied, in spite of themselves, the beautiful young
man, pale faced and haggard, who flew on thus, and took
neither rest, nor food, dripping with sweat, despite the bitter
cold, and whose parched lips could only frame the words :—
" A horse ! a horse ! quick, there, a horse !"
And, in fact, exhausted, with no strength but that supplied
THE TRAGEDY OF NANTES.
289
him by his heart, and maddened more and more by the
rapidity of his course and the feeling of danger, Gaston felt
his head turn, his temples throb, and the perspiration of his
limbs was tinged with blood.
Choked by the thirst and dryness of his throat, at Ancenis
he drank a glass of water: it was the first moment he had
lost during sixteen hours, and yet the accursed courier was
still an hour and a half in advance. In eighty leagues Gaston
had only gained some forty or fifty minutes.
The night was drawing in rapidly, and Gaston, ever ex-
pecting to see some object appear on the horizon, tried to
pierce the obscurity with his bloodshot glances ; on he went,
as in a dream, thinking he heard the ringing of bells, the
roar of cannon, and the roll of drums. His brain was full
of mournful strains and inauspicious sounds; he lived no
longer as a man, but his fever kept him up, he flew as it
were in the air.
On, and still on. About eight o'clock at night he per-
ceived Nantes at length upon the horizon, like a dark mass
from out the midst of which some scattered lights were
shining starfike in the gloom.
He tried to breathe, and thinking his cravat was choking
him, he tore it off and threw it on the road.
Thus, mounted on his black horse, wrapped in his black
cloak, and long ago bareheaded (his hat had fallen off),
Gaston was like some fiendish cavalier bound to the witches'
Sabbath.
On reaching the gates of Nantes his horse stumbled, but
Gaston did not lose his stirrups, pulled him up sharply,
and driving the spurs into his sides, he made him recover
himself.
The night was dark, no one appeared upon the ramparts,
the very sentinels were hidden in the gloom, it seemed like
a deserted city.
But as he passed the gate a sentinel said something
which Gaston did not even hear.
He held on his way.
At the Rue du Chateau his horse stumbled and fell,
this time to rise no more.
What mattered it to Gaston now ?—he had arrived. On
*9
290
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
he went on foot—his limbs were strained and deadened, yet
he felt no fatigue, he held the paper crumpled in his hand.
One thing, however, astonished him, and that was meeting
no one in so populous a quarter.
As he advanced, however, he heard a sullen murmur
coming from the Place de Bouffay, as he passed before a long
street which led into that Place.
There was a sea of heads, lit up by flaring lights; but
Gaston passed on—his business was at the castle—and the
sight disappeared.
At last he saw the castle—he saw the door gaping wide
before him. The sentinel on guard upon the drawbridge
tried to stop him ; but Gaston, his order in his hand, pushed
him roughly aside and entered the inner door.
Men were talking, and one of them wiping his tears off
as he talked.
Gaston understood it all.
" A reprieve!" he cried, "A re "
The word died upon his lips; but the men had done
better than hear, they had seen his despairing gesture.
" Go, go!" they cried, showing him the way, " go ! and,
perhaps you may yet arrive in time."
And they themselves dispersed in all directions. Gaston
pursued his way; he traversed a corridor, then some erqpty
rooms, then the great chamber, and then another corridor.
Far off, through the bars, by the torchlight, he perceived
the great crowd of which he had caught a glimpse before.
He had passed right through the castle, and issued on a
terrace; thence he perceived the esplanade, a scaffold, men,
and all around the crowd.
Gaston tried to cry, but no one heard him, he waved his
handkerchief, but no one saw him; another man mounts
on the scaffold, and Gaston uttered a cry and threw himself
down below.
He had leaped from the top of the rampart to the bottom.
A sentinel tried to stop him, but, he threw him down, and
descended a sort of staircase which led down to the square,
and at the bottom was a sort of barricade of wagons. Gaston
bent down and glided between the wheels.
Beyond the barricade were all St. Simon's grenadiers—a
THE TRAGEDY OF NANTES.
291
living hedge; Gaston, with a desperate effort, broke through
the line, and found himself inside the ring.
The soldiers, seeing a man, pale and breathless, with a
paper in his hand, allowed him to pass.
All of a sudden he stopped, as if struck by lightning.
Talhouet!—he saw him!—Talhouet kneeling on the scaf-
fold !
" Stop! stop!" cried Gaston, with all the energy of
despair.
But even as he spoke the sword of the executioner flashed
like lightning—a dull and heavy blow followed—and a ter-
rible shudder ran through all the crowd.
The young man's shriek was lost in the general cry arising
from twenty thousand palpitating breasts at once.
He had arrived a moment too late—Talhouet was dead :
and, as he lifted his eyes, he saw in the hand of the heads-
man the bleeding head of his friend and then, in the
nobility of his heart, he felt that, one being dead, they all
should die. That not one of them would accept a pardon
which arrived a head too late. He looked around him; Du
Couedic mounted in his turn, clothed with his black mantle,
bare-headed and bare-necked.
Gaston remembered that he also had a black mantle, and
that his head and neck were bare, and he laughed convul-
sively.
He saw what remained for him to do, as one sees some
wild landscape by the lightning's livid gleam—'tis awful, but
grand.
Du Couedic bends down; but, as he bends, he cries—
" See how they recompense the services of faithful soldiers!
—see how you keep your promises, oh ye cowards of
Bretagne !"
Two assistants force him on his knees ; the sword of the
executioner whirls round and gleams again, and Du Couedic
lies beside Talhouet.
The executioner takes up the head; shows it to the
people; and then places it at one corner of the scaffold,
opposite that of Talhouet.
" Who next ?" asks Waters.
" It matters little," answers a voice, " provided that
19—2
292
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
Monsieur de Pontcalec be the last, according to his sen-
tence."
" I, then," says Montlouis, " I." And he springs upon the
scaffold. But there he stops, his hair bristling ; at a window
before him he has seen his wife and his children.
" Montlouis! Montlouis 1" cries his wife, with the de-
spairing accent of a breaking heart, " Montlouis! look at
us 1"
At the same moment all eyes were turned towards that
window. Soldiers, citizens, priests, and executioners look the
same way. Gaston profits by the deathlike silence which
reigns around him—springs to the scaffold, and grasps the
staircase—and mounts the first steps.
" My wife ! my children !" cries Montlouis, wringing his
hands in despair; " oh ! go, have pity upon me !"
" Montlouis !" cries his wife, holding up afar the youngest
of his sons, " Montlouis, bless your children, and one day,
perhaps, one of them will avenge you."
" Adieu ! my children, my blessing on you !" cries Mont-
louis, stretching his hands towards the window.
These mournful adieus pierce the night, and reverberate
like a terrible echo in the hearts of the spectators.
" Enough," says Waters, " enough." Then, turning to his
assistants :
" Be quick !" says he, " or the people will not allow us to
finish."
" Be easy," says Montlouis; " if the people should rescue
me, I would not survive them."
And he pointed with his finger to the heads of his com-
panions.
" Ah, I had estimated them rightly, then," cried Gaston,
who heard these words, " Montlouis, martyr, pray for
me."
Montlouis turned round, he seemed to have heard a well-
known voice ; but at the very moment the executioner
seized him, and almost instantly a loud cry told Gaston
that Montlouis was like the others, and that his turn was
come.
He leapt up; in a moment he was on the top of the
ladder, and he in his turn looked down from the* abomin-
THE TEA GED Y OF NANTES. 293
able platform upon all that crowd. At three corners of
the scaffold were the heads of Talhouet, Du Couedic, and
Montlouis.
But there arose then a strange emotion in the people. The
execution of Montlouis, attended by the circumstances we
have narrated, had upset the crowd. All the square, heaving
and uttering murmurs and imprecations, seemed to Gaston
some vast sea with life in every wave. At this moment the
idea flashed across him that he might be recognized, and that
his name uttered by a single mouth might prevent his carry-
ing out his intention. He fell on his knees, and laid his head
himself upon the block.
" Adieu !" he murmured, " adieu my friends, my tender,
dear Helene; thy nuptial kiss has cost me my life indeed,
but not mine honour. Alas ! those fifteen minutes wasted
in thine arms will have struck down five heads. Adieu !
Helene, adieu !"
The sword of the executioner gleamed.
"—And you, my friends, pardon me," added the young
man.
The steel fell; the head rolled one way, and the body fell
the other.
Then Waters raised the head and showed it to the
people.
But then a mighty murmur rose from the crowd; no one
had recognized Pontcalec.
The executioner mistook the meaning of this murmur;
he placed Gaston's head at the empty corner, and with his
foot pushing the body into the tumbril where those of his
three companions awaited it, he leant upon his sword, and
cried aloud :
" Justice is done."
" And I, then," cried a voice of thunder, " am I to be
forgotten ?"
And Pontcalec, in his turn leapt upon the scaffold.
" You !" cried Waters, recoiling as if he had seen a ghost,
*l You ! who are you ?"
" I," said Pontcalec ; " come, I am ready."
" But," said the executioner, trembling, and looking one
294
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
after the other at the four corners of the scaffold—" but there
are four heads already."
" I am the Baron de Pontcalec, do you hear; I am to die
the last—and here I am."
" Count," said Waters, as pale as the baron, pointing with
his sword to the four corners.
" Four heads !" exclaimed Pontcalec; "impossible." At
this moment he recognised in one of the heads the pale and
noble face of Gaston, which seemed to smile upon him even
in death.
And he in his turn started back in terror.
"Oh, kill me then quickly!" he cried, groaning with
impatience; " would you make me die a thousand times ?"
During this interval, one of the commissioners had mounted
the ladder, called by the chief executioner. He cast a glance
upon Pontcalec.
" It is indeed the Baron de Pontcalec," said the com-
missioner; " perform your office."
" But," cried the executioner, " there are four heads there
already."
" Well, then, his will make five; better too many than too
few."
And the commissioner descended the steps, signing to the
drums to beat.
Waters reeled upon the boards of his scaffold. The
tumult increased. The horror was more than the crowd
could bear. A long murmur ran along the square; the
lights were put out; the soldiers, driven back, cried "To
arms !" there was a moment of noise and confusion, and
several voices exclaimed:
"Death to the commissioners ! death to the executioners!"
Then the guns of the fort, loaded with grape, were pointed
towards the people.
" What shall I do ?" asked Waters.
"Strike," answered the same voice which had always
spoken.
Pontcalec threw himself on his knees; the assistants placed
his head upon the block. Then the priests fled in horror,
the soldiers trembled in the gloom, and Waters, as he struck,
turned away his head lest Tie should see his victim. Ten
THE TRAGEDY OF NANTES.
295
minutes afterwards the square was empty—the windows
closed and dark. The artillery and the fusiliers, encamped
around the demolished scaffold, looked in silence on the
spots of blood that incarnadined the pavement.
The priests to whom the bodies were delivered recognized
that there were indeed, as Waters had said, five bodies
instead of four. One of the corpses still held a crumpled
paper in his hand.
This paper was the pardon of the other four. Then only
was all explained—and the devotion of Gaston, which he had
confided to no one, was divined.
The priests wished to perform a mass, but the president,
Chateauneuf, fearing some disturbance at Nantes, ordered it
to be performed without pomp or ceremony.
The bodies were buried on the Wednesday before Easter.
The people were not permitted to enter the chapel where
the mutilated bodies reposed, the greater part of which,
report says, the quick lime refused to destroy.
And this finished the tragedy of Nantes.
296
THE REGENTS DAUGHTER.
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
the end.
A fortnight after the events we have just related, a queer
carriage, the same which we saw arrive at Paris at the
commencement of this history, went out at the same barrier
by which it had entered, and proceeded along the road
from Paris to Nantes. A young woman, pale and almost
dying, was seated in it by the side of an Augustine nun,
who uttered a sigh and wiped away a tear every time she
looked at her companion.
A man on horseback was watching for the carriage a little
beyond Rambouillet. He was wrapped in a large cloak which
left nothing visible but his eyes.
Near him was another man also enveloped in a cloak.
When the carriage passed, he heaved a deep sigh, and two
silent tears fell from his eyes.
" Adieu !" he murmured, " adieu all my joy, adieu my
happiness; adieu Helene, my child, adieu !"
" Monseigneur," said the man beside him, " you must pay
for being a great prince; and he who would govern others
must first conquer himself. Be strong to the end, monseig-
neur, and posterity will say that you were great."
" Oh, I shall never forgive you," said the regent, with a
sigh so deep it sounded like a groan ; "for you have killed
my happiness."
" Ah ! yes—work for kings," said the companion of this
THE END.
297
sorrowful man, shrugging his shoulders. " 'Noli fidere prin-
cipibus terrae nec filiis eorum.'"
The two men remained there till the carriage had disap-
peared, and then returned to Paris.
Eight days afterwards the carriage entered the porch of
the Augustines at Clisson. On its arrival, all the convent
pressed round the suffering traveller—poor floweret ! broken
by the rough winds of the world.
" Come, my child \ come and live with us again," said the
superior.
"Not live, my mother," said the young girl, " but die."
" Think only of the Lord, my child," said the good
abbess.
" Yes, my mother! Our Lord, who died for the sins of
men."
Helene returned to her little cell, from which she had been
absent scarcely a month. Everything was still in its place,
and exactly as she had left it. She went to the window—
the lake was sleeping tranquil and sad, but the ice which
had covered it had disappeared beneath the rain, and with it
the snow, where, before departing, the young girl had seen
the impression of Gaston's footsteps.
Spring came, and everything but Helene began to live
once more. The trees around the little lake grew green,
the large leaves of the water-lilies floated once more upon
the surface, the reeds raised up their heads, and all the
families of warbling birds came back to people them again.
Even the barred gate opened to let the sturdy gardener
in.
Helene survived the summer, but in September she faded
with the waning of the year, and died.
The very morning of her death, the superior received a
letter from Paris by a courier. She carried it to the dying
girl. It contained only these words :
" My mother—obtain from your daughter her pardon for
the regent."
Helene, implored by the superior, grew paler at that name,
but she answered :
"Yes, my mother, I forgive him. But it is because I go
to rejoin him whom he killed."
298
THE REGENT'S DAUGHTER.
At four o'clock in the afternoon she breathed her last.
She asked to be buried at the spot where Gaston used to
untie the boat with which he came to visit her; and her last
wishes were complied with.
And there she sleeps beneath the sod, pure as the flowers
that blossom over her grave; and, like them, broken by the
cruel gusts that sweep the delicate blossoms so mercilessly
down, and wither them with a breaih.
THE END.
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