"I grieve, madam," said Henry, addressing the Marchioness de Ma.s.seran, in a courteous tone, "I grieve to see you apparently so much altered in health. It would seem that the air of Savoy--that pure, fine air--suits not your const.i.tution. We must keep you more with us in Paris."

"I have been suffering some anxiety and grief, sire," replied the lady, while the eyes of the Lord of Ma.s.seran were bent keenly and fiercely upon her.

"Most sorry am I to hear it," replied the king. "We believed that, in providing for you so n.o.ble and high a husband as the Lord of Ma.s.seran, we should have moved grief and anxiety from you altogether. We trust that we have not been deceived in this n.o.ble lord," continued the king, gazing sternly upon the Savoyard.

"Your majesty has, I believe, been mistaken in what this dear and excellent lady said," replied the Lord of Ma.s.seran; "I discovered no charge against myself in her words. Was there any, dear lady?"

"Oh, no," replied the lady, quickly, and, it seemed, fearfully; "none, none; I spoke alone of the grief and anxiety which, as you know, I came hither to lay before his majesty, if we were fortunate enough to find audience."

"Then I will beg you, madam," said the king, "to lay it before me at once, and fully, confiding in me entirely as you would in a brother, and remembering that, whoever be the offender, you have in the king one who can protect as well as punish, and who will protect wherever he sees wrong offered or evil suffered."

The lady gave a momentary glance at her husband, as if of timid inquiry.

It was like a child saying its lesson, and looking up for a word of direction or encouragement. "I thank your majesty much," she said, "for your gracious promise, and I come to you with full confidence, feeling that you will grant me redress for what I consider a great injury. My complaint is this: that a gentleman of high rank and station, connected with some of the highest families of this realm, a distinguished soldier also, and one who has. .h.i.therto borne a high character--has, while pretending to carry on the war in Piedmont, and commanding certain bodies of your majesty's troops--has, I say, clandestinely carried away my daughter, Isabel de Brienne, during the temporary absence of my husband, Monsieur de Ma.s.seran. He had even induced a priest to perform the marriage ceremony between him and her, when the fortunate return of my husband at the very moment enabled him to seize them at the altar. I say, sire, that this is my complaint, and for this I beg redress; the more so, indeed, inasmuch as this very gentleman who has so acted was well aware that your majesty had expressed yourself strongly against such clandestine marriages, and had even proposed an edict declaring them void and of no effect."

"Pray who is this gentleman?" demanded the king, in a stern tone. "By your showing, madam, he has acted bitterly wrong, and, unless some extenuations appear, he shall be most severely punished; nor shall that punishment be the less on account of his rank, distinction, and services, as he could neither plead ignorance, inexperience, nor folly."

The features of the Lord of Ma.s.seran relaxed into a dark smile; and the lady replied, "His name, sire, was once dear and familiar to me and mine--it is Bernard, baron de Rohan."

"What! our good friend and daring captain?" exclaimed the king; "this is indeed too bad. Monsieur de Rohan ought to have known that he had nothing to do but to apply to ourself, not only at once to obtain our royal permission, but also to induce us to use every argument with such of the lady's family as might be opposed to his wishes."

"Sire," replied the lady, taking advantage of a pause in the king's answer, "this gentleman has acted ill in all respects. He neither put confidence in your majesty nor in me; he never even applied for my consent; he has never seen me since he crossed the Alps."

"This is altogether amiss," replied the king. "You say they are separated," he continued, in a musing tone; "where is the young lady? I would fain see and speak with her."

Such communication would not have suited the purposes of the Lord of Ma.s.seran, even had it been possible to produce Isabel of Brienne; and now, having seen his wife make her formal complaint exactly as he could have wished, he took the rest of the business out of her hands, fearful lest she might make some rash admission. "Alas! sire," he said, "it is impossible that your majesty's commands can be complied with; not only is the lady not with us in Paris, but she has escaped from the hands of those into whose charge I gave her. Where she is, and what doing, we know not; and it is under these circ.u.mstances that we come to your majesty, not so much for redress as for aid."

"This complicates the matter, indeed," said Henry; "have you, then, reason to suppose that she has rejoined him?"

"No, sire," replied the Lord of Ma.s.seran, "not so at all; for I ventured to take a step which--although, of course, on my own territories I am free and independent, as lord and sovereign--I would not have done, had I not been aware that your majesty is as just as you are powerful. I found one of your majesty's subjects upon my territories committing an unlawful act, for which I would have punished any of my own va.s.sals with death, and I ventured--"

"You did not kill him?" exclaimed the king, starting.

"Oh no, sire, no," replied the Savoyard; "I never dreamed of such a thing. I ventured to arrest and imprison him, in order to prevent the evil being carried farther; and, having done so, I set out immediately to cast myself at your majesty's feet, to inform you exactly how I had acted, to beg your forgiveness for having imprisoned one of your subjects, and to place the decision of his fate entirely in the hands of your majesty."

"You have acted well and wisely," replied the king; "and, such being the case, you shall not only have aid, but redress. The edict which renders such clandestine marriages null and void shall be signed this instant, and shall be registered by our Parliament to-morrow. My lord the cardinal, we trust that you come as well prepared this afternoon as you were this morning. Have you the edict with you now?"

"I have not, your majesty," replied Bertrandi; "but it is in your majesty's cabinet."

"Let it be brought instantly," said the king. "This new example of the fault which it is destined to amend, not only fully justifies the act, but also peremptorily requires the clause which remedies the evil just committed. Nor shall this be the only punishment which shall fall upon the head of him who has so far neglected what was due to himself and to us. He must be summoned to Paris immediately; and, in the mean time, means must also be taken to bring this refractory girl also to our court. Be quick, good cardinal, for we must not be long absent from the hall."

The dauphin listened to his father in silence, and with an air of deep reverence. "I trust, sire," he said, at length, as soon as he perceived that the king, having given his orders, was turning once more to address the Marquis of Ma.s.seran, "I trust that there are some circ.u.mstances in the case of Monsieur de Rohan which may mitigate your majesty's anger when known. It seems to me that Monsieur de Ma.s.seran has not been completely explicit on one or two subjects; may I presume to ask him a few questions in your majesty's presence?"

"Certainly, Francis," replied the king. "It gives me always pleasure to see you exercise your judgment and powers of mind on subjects of importance."

The young prince bowed with an ingenuous blush, while the Marquis of Ma.s.seran turned a shade paler than usual, and bent down his eyes upon the ground before the boy of sixteen, who now advanced a step to question him. "You tell us, Monsieur le Marquis," he said, "that the Baron de Rohan did not even apply for the consent of your fair lady: may I ask if he ever presented himself at your palace, or chateau, or whatever it may be, for the purpose of so doing?"

"It was the marchioness who said so, not I," replied the Lord of Ma.s.seran: "I was absent at the time."

"At what time?" demanded the prince, sharply; and, seeing the Savoyard hesitate, he added, "Did or did not Monsieur de Rohan come to your gates? and was he or was he not refused admission?"

"I believe he did," said the Marquis of Ma.s.seran, "I believe he did present himself at the gates when I was absent."

"He himself believed that you were not absent," replied the youth, with royal sternness, while the king felt no little surprise to find that his son had so intimate a knowledge of the facts in question; and the Marquis of Ma.s.seran, still more surprised, concealed his astonishment less skilfully than the monarch. "On my word, your highness," he said, "on my life, I was absent."

"But yet, Monsieur de Ma.s.seran," continued the prince, "you were perfectly well aware that Monsieur de Rohan presented himself at your gates, demanding to speak with yourself, in the first place, and then, in your absence, with this fair lady your wife, who certainly was within the chateau; and yet you suffered her--unconsciously upon her part, no doubt--to lead his majesty to believe that her approbation had not been sought and was utterly contemned. This was not right, sir, for it was misleading the king."

"You speak well and wisely, Francis," said his father: "go on, my dear boy, go on, if you have anything more to ask."

"One or two things more, may it please your majesty," he replied, with a look of pride in his father's approbation, but keeping his eyes still fixed upon the Lord of Ma.s.seran. "My next question is: as the young lady has a brother, who is her next male relation, did he or did he not give his consent to the marriage of Monsieur de Rohan with his sister?"

"In regard to that, sir, I can say nothing," replied the Lord of Ma.s.seran. "Monsieur de Brienne, your highness, is not under my charge and guidance. All I have to say is, that his mother most positively refused her consent."

"It might be more straightforward, sir," replied the prince, "to say whether, to your knowledge, Monsieur de Brienne consented or not."

"I think, monseigneur," said Diana of Poitiers, taking a step forward, "I think I may reply fully to your question, which Monsieur de Ma.s.seran seems not inclined to do. Henry de Brienne always has approved of his sister's marriage to Bernard de Rohan, and Monsieur and Madame de Ma.s.seran are amply aware of the fact."

"I do not deny it," said Madame de Ma.s.seran, sharply. "He is a headstrong and unruly boy."

"One question more," said the prince, "and I have done. Is not Bernard de Rohan justified, to a certain degree, in that which he has done, by a written promise of Mademoiselle de Brienne's hand, given to him by her own father shortly before the good count's death? I ask you, madam, is not this the case?"

"It is the case that he has such a promise," replied Madame de Ma.s.seran, in the same shrewish tone, "but not that he is justified by it, your highness. That promise never had either my consent or approbation; though the late Monsieur de Brienne, who was his guardian and brought him up, was foolishly fond of this boy, and thought that he was everything great and n.o.ble, I had always different views for my daughter, and never either directly or indirectly countenanced that promise."

"I am in no way interested in this business, sire," said the dauphin, turning towards his father, "not being personally acquainted in the slightest degree with Monsieur de Rohan; but I thought it necessary to ask these few questions in your majesty's presence, in consequence of information I had received in a somewhat circuitous manner. Having thus far elicited the truth, which was at first evidently concealed from you, your majesty's wisdom must decide the rest--"

"This is the edict, sire," said the Cardinal Bertrandi, re-entering the chamber; "it wants but your royal signature and the great seal. May I offer you the pen?" and, thus saying, he spread the parchment on the table before the king.

Henry took the pen, paused for a moment, and then turned his eyes upon the d.u.c.h.ess of Valentinois. She looked down upon the ground, however, and uttered not a word. The king dipped the pen in the ink and wrote his name at the bottom of the edict. The chancellor countersigned it, and raised it from the table.

"Now, Diana," said Henry, in a low voice, turning to the d.u.c.h.ess, "what think you?"

"That your majesty has done perfectly right," replied the lady, in the same low tone. "Not that this poor Bernard de Rohan, it would appear, is really to blame."

"I do not know," replied the king, "I do not know; but we shall soon see. The question must be inquired into," he added, in a louder voice.

"I will hear all parties, and then decide. For the present, the marriage is annulled. Monsieur de Ma.s.seran, hasten back to Savoy, and instantly set the Baron de Rohan at liberty. Let some one proceed immediately--her brother will be the best, the fittest, the only fit person. Let him immediately proceed to seek for Mademoiselle de Brienne, and bring her to Paris without loss of time. You, Monsieur de Ma.s.seran, will command De Rohan, in our name, to present himself in the capital within fourteen days from the date of his liberation by your hand. You will do well also to come hither yourself as speedily as may be; for our good friend Brissac, who is somewhat of a sanguinary person to deal with, has conceived an objection to the frequent pa.s.sing of couriers through your part of the country. It were well to keep out of Brissac's way. My good Lord Cardinal, see that all things requisite be done, and also that the edict be duly registered in the Parliament to-morrow. Come, Francis, come. We shall have all the world marvelling at our absence."

CHAPTER XVII.

What would life be without its varieties?

I forget where I have met with it--whether in the works of Kant and his disciples, or in the thoughts and imaginations attributed to Zoroaster, or in some of the lucubrations of Plato, or in the fragments of Epicurus, whose doubtful philosophy has left the world at war as to his tendency towards good or evil, virtue or vice: certainly it was not in Pyrrho, who had nothing good in him, or in Confucius, the great teacher of the tea-growing nation--I forget where I have met with it; but among the many speculations, wise and foolish, learned and ignorant, fanciful and earthly, with which we children of the lower sphere from time to time have amused ourselves, sometimes reverently, sometimes impiously, sometimes with humility, sometimes audaciously, there is to be found a theory--perhaps it merely deserves the name of an hypothesis--which attributes to the Deity, almost as an attribute, but, at all events, as a necessity, the endless variety of creations, and a satisfaction, if we may use the term, in viewing the infinite multiplicity of his own works.

Without presuming, however, to raise our eyes to scan things that are hidden from us, or to reason upon any attributes of G.o.d except such as he has deigned to reveal to us; without daring to lay down limits to infinity, or, like the stupid idolaters of ancient times, the Greek and Roman inventors of the most barbarous worship that ever, perhaps, was devised, who, after making to themselves G.o.ds, and clothing those G.o.ds with all the most infamous of human pa.s.sions, ended by enchaining their very deities themselves, under the law of a necessity which bound all things, and left G.o.dhead as impotent as humanity; without such audacity or such foolishness, we may well look round upon the universe exposed to our eyes, and, seeing that G.o.d has been pleased to render his creations infinite, we may at least feel certain that the varieties which he has displayed are in themselves excellent and beautiful, each deriving propriety from the other, and all forming a grand scheme in which the diversity of the parts is only one admirable feature. Our own eyes and our own senses, our own hearts and our own feelings, convince us of it every moment; and, from the glorious mountain to the minute blade of gra.s.s which grows by its side, from the boundless ocean to the small, bright, glistening drop that dashes in spray upon the rocks that bound it, every variety contributes visibly to our delight, and to the beauty of the wonderful scene in which we dwell.

Variety, then, forms a part of enjoyment; but let it not be supposed that the admission of this fact--derived, as we derive it, from the works of G.o.d himself--can ever have a tendency to produce evil, to generate the licentious desire of multiplying and changing pleasures, or to create the fickle and fluttering inconstancy which ranges dissatisfied from object to object. In the works of G.o.d, though the varieties be infinite, and the contrasts sometimes immense, there is still a general and beautiful harmony, a fine and exact adaptation of every part to the other. Each change and each variation has its end and object, each step has its purpose, and each contrast ends in some grand result.