"Perhaps such suspicions were unjust, sire," continued Isabel; "but to speak of facts. I had been forced out more than once to hunting-parties where the Count of Meyrand joined us; and at length, on one occasion, I was told that I must needs go forth with my Lord of Ma.s.seran to visit a house of his farther in the mountains. I went with fear, sire, on many accounts. First, the hour he chose was strange, just before sunset; next, my mother was not with us; and next, the train appointed to accompany us was smaller than usual. Scarcely had night fallen, when we were suddenly attacked and overpowered by a large body of men--"

"Was this with violence?" demanded the king. "Was any one killed or hurt?"

"None but some of the old and faithful servants of my family," replied the young lady, "who forgot where they were, and how situated, and defended their young mistress with their lives. One of them escaped, and fled to a little inn for help; but, in the mean time, we were, as I have said, overpowered and carried off farther into the hills, my Lord of Ma.s.seran as well as myself; though I cannot help thinking that he went somewhat willingly, for certainly among the a.s.sailants there was one, if not more, of the attendants of his good friend the Count de Meyrand.

When we had gone some way--a long way, indeed, it seemed to me--a cavalier who had been found at the inn, none other than Monsieur de Rohan, came to our rescue, having gathered together a number of persons sufficient to deliver us--"

"A number of brigands!" said the Lord of Ma.s.seran, interrupting her: "brigands, you mean, young lady! brigands!"

"Ha! ha!" cried the priest, "wonderfully good! That bolt was smartly shot, my good Lord of Ma.s.seran. But, as you have put a word to the lady's story, I will put another; she says 'persons,' you say 'brigands,' I say anybody he could get. I was one of the number: there were other people from the inn, and the brigands, it is very true, came and joined us; not liking, as your majesty may easily conceive, that the good Lord of Ma.s.seran, or any other lord, should take the trade out of their hands. However, we refused no help where we could get it. The Chevalier de Meyrand, who was at the inn when the man came crying for aid, remained at the table with the capons and the bottles of wine, not liking, as may well be supposed, to frustrate his own schemes or fight against his own people; and Bernard de Rohan, with what a.s.sistance he could get, set free the young lady, ay, and the Lord of Ma.s.seran to boot."

"Then there were, in truth, brigands with you, my good father," said the king.

"In sooth were there, sire," replied the priest; "some of the best brigands between this and Naples; and I have a shrewd notion that Corse de Leon was there himself."

"Indeed!" said the king, with a smile; "then I wish I had been there also: I would give half a province to see that man, who seems to have been born for a general, and become a brigand by accident."

"Brissac writes me word, sire," said the Marechal de Vieilleville, "that Corse de Leon has served you better in Piedmont than any three captains in your service."

"That may well be," said the king; "but yet we must not too openly favour such gentry. Now, lady, we have interrupted you too long."

"I have but little more to say, sire," replied Isabel de Brienne: "as those who had delivered us were carrying us back to the castle in safety, I had full opportunity--the first time for years--of speaking with my promised husband, who informed me that he came, not only to seek my hand, but to bear despatches from Monsieur de Brissac to my Lord of Ma.s.seran there. What I have to tell farther is not altogether of my own knowledge; but let him deny the facts if he can, for there are persons who can prove them if he does deny them. He received intelligence that Monsieur de Rohan brought him despatches and directions of an unpleasant kind, and he left the chateau that he might not receive them. He also ordered that admittance should be refused both to my mother and myself; and I had reason to believe that a new scheme was formed for compelling me to wed the Count de Meyrand. In these circ.u.mstances, your majesty, I saw no chance of escape but in doing as I did do. I was far from your protecting arm; I was, in fact, in the power and at the disposal, not of my mother, but of a stranger to our house and nation; and I knew that if I delayed or hesitated, even for a few days, I was likely to be borne far away beyond the power of rescue or deliverance. I held that my father's will and wishes justified me in what, at other times, might have been a rash, perhaps an improper act; and, having the opportunity both of seeing him I loved and escaping with him, I did not hesitate; our purpose being immediately to seek your presence, and cast ourselves at your majesty's feet, entreating your gracious pardon. We were afterward seized at the altar, as your majesty has been told; and I was then carried away, as if with the purpose of taking me to some remote place, but, in reality, to give the opportunity of a mock deliverance by the Count of Meyrand;" and she gave a brief account of what had taken place after the count came apparently to her rescue. "I doubt not that he was carrying me to Paris," she continued, "and might ultimately have brought me to your majesty's presence; but I neither chose to be entirely in his power and at his disposal after all that had happened, nor to quit that part of the country where I had reason to believe my brother was or might soon be, and where my husband--yes, sire, my husband, for a vow had been spoken which nothing but death could do away--where my husband lay a captive in the hands of that dangerous man.

With the aid of Father Willand here I made my escape; but alas! alas! it was only to find that he who had loved me well and truly was no longer in life to protect and guide me. I found, sire, that he had died a horrible death in the castle of Ma.s.seran, by the falling of the tower under which he was confined."

She spoke, to all appearance, calmly; even the last words were distinct, though low; but she kept her eyes bent down, and, closing them for a moment, the drops of tears broke through the long black lashes like a crushed diamond.

"I grieve for you, dear lady," said the king, "and I sympathize with you also; for I loved this young gentleman well. But tell me, have you any suspicion that his death was brought about unfairly?"

"No, sire, no," she replied; "I have no cause to suppose so. I know nothing farther than that it is as I have told you."

"You see, sire," said the Lord of Ma.s.seran, "that she exculpates me from blame in this matter."

"No, my lord, no," replied the king. "Of the manner of this gentleman's death she knows nothing, but in regard to your preceding conduct she does anything but exculpate you. She says, or I am mistaken, that she had good reason to know a scheme had been formed for compelling her to marry the Count de Meyrand, and also for bearing her far away beyond the possibility of rescue or deliverance. Call you this exculpating you?"

"But I deny that this is the case, sire," replied the Lord of Ma.s.seran.

"How could she tell what were my schemes or what were my plans? These are but vague suspicions, engendered by disappointment and anger."

"No, my lord, they are not," replied Isabel de Brienne. "They are not vague suspicions: they are certainties which I have never yet fully told to any one, no, not even to him I loved, because you are my mother's husband; but may I put you in mind of a German courier who was with you secretly on the twenty-ninth of last month--not the first that came that day--ay, and of the Spaniard who came two days afterward--"

The Lord of Ma.s.seran turned paler than his ruff, and clasped his hands together as if about to pray for mercy; but Isabel went on, "With his majesty's permission, I will first tell you in your ear, my lord, what I know of those couriers. Then, if you will have it so, and still deny the fact, I will speak aloud, and call on those who can prove it."

The king bowed his head in token of consent; and, while Isabel spoke for a few moments with the Lord of Ma.s.seran apart, he said to Vieilleville, with a thoughtful look, "You see Brissac's information was good."

"Might it not be better, sire," said Vieilleville, "to send this man for a few days to the Bastile, in order to ascertain how the case now stands?"

"It is not worth while," replied the king, in the same under voice; "the treaty will so soon be concluded that he can do no mischief, especially while we keep him about the court. On the contrary, Vieilleville, I hope and trust he will not drive this poor girl to say any more; for I suspect, if she were to tell all, I should be obliged to punish him; and that same sword of justice is the heaviest and most unpleasant one to wield I know. Well, fair lady, does your penitent admit the facts?"

"He does not deny, my lord," replied Isabel de Brienne, "that I had good cause for suspicion; and he has moreover promised me, both in his own name and in that of my mother, that I shall never be farther pressed to give my hand to any one, but shall be permitted to do the only thing that now remains for me to do in life--to retire from a world where I have known little but sorrow, and vow myself to the altar for ever."

"Nay, nay," said the king. "Not so, fair lady, not so. We will have you think of this better. Such charms as yours were never made for the cloister. At all events, let the first shadow of this grief pa.s.s away: you know not what may happen to change your views."

"Nothing can ever do so, sire," replied Isabel de Brienne. "Your majesty must not forget, that with him who is gone I have been brought up all my life. The sweet years of childhood, the happiest period that I have ever known, are in remembrance full of him and of his affection. To him all my thoughts have been given, all my wishes linked from childhood until now: the thoughts so nurtured have become part of my being. His glory I have felt as my glory, his happiness I have prayed for before my own, and his praise has been to my heart the most tuneful of all sounds. I can never think otherwise than I have thought, sire; and I will beseech your majesty not to give this good Lord of Ma.s.seran any motive to withdraw the word that he has plighted to me."

"Nay, I will not do that," replied the king. "I will hold him bound by that word, that neither he nor your mother shall offer any opposition to your wishes in this respect; but still, at the king's request, you must delay the execution of such a scheme, at least for a short time."

"I fear, sire," said the Lord of Ma.s.seran, "that it will be in vain. As your majesty well knows, and as I do not scruple to confess, I had other views and wishes for her; but I know that she is of so fixed and determined a nature, that when, believing she is right, she has made up her mind to a certain course of action, nothing will move her to abandon it."

"We shall see, we shall see," said the king. "I would fain not lose one of the brightest ornaments of our court. Vieilleville," he continued, "unto your care I will commend this young lady. Take her with you to the apartments of your daughter and of my daughter Claude. Bid the princess love her and sooth her, and consult with the queen where she can best be placed in the chateau, so as to have comfort, and ease, and repose, with as little of the bustle and gayety of a court as may be, for the time.

Such things will be harsh to you, I know, young lady. Monsieur de Ma.s.seran, we will be father and mother also to her for a while. Father Willand, let me see you at nightfall: I have somewhat to say to you, my good friend."

"I shall make the almoner in waiting jealous," said Father Willand; "but I hope your majesty will order me some dinner: for I doubt much if, in your whole palace, I should find any one charitable enough to bestow an alms on a poor wandering priest like myself."

"You are mistaken, good father," said Vieilleville. "You will find your cover at my table: come with me; we must no farther occupy his majesty's time."

Thus saying, he led Isabel de Brienne to the door; but, before he had gone out, the king called him back, and said in a low voice, "Do not let the Savoyard quit the court. Should need be, tell him I require his presence the day after to-morrow. Discourage these ideas of nunneries.

Poor Meyrand is madly in love with this girl; and it is strange to see how pa.s.sion mixes itself up with his supercilious air of indifference.

Perhaps she may be brought to yield."

"I think not, sire," replied Vieilleville, bluntly; and, with a low bow, he left the room.

CHAPTER XXI.

The horse was strong and fresh, and Bernard de Rohan rode on rapidly.

The stars came out brighter and brighter as the night deepened, and the clear, deep, l.u.s.trous purple of those fair southern skies became mingled with yellow light, as the moon, looking large and defined, rose over the deep black summits of the eastern hills. It was not long before the French frontier was pa.s.sed; and in those days, as Savoy was completely in the occupation of the French, no guards watched upon the way to stop or question the stranger coming from the neighbouring land.

Judging the distance which Isabel must have gone, even at a slow pace, to be considerable, Bernard de Rohan did not think fit to pause at any of the first towns or villages which he met with, but, avoiding man's habitation as far as possible, went on till his horse's speed began to flag, and he found it necessary to stop for repose and refreshment. He had now gone on, however, for about five hours, so that it was by this time the middle of the night, and with difficulty he made himself heard in a small hamlet on the rode to Gren.o.ble. He procured, at length, some refreshment for himself and for his horse, but no tidings whatsoever which could lead him to judge whether Isabel and his servants had or had not taken the same road which he himself was following. He remained, however, for two hours, to allow the horse time to rest, and then, once more putting his foot in the stirrup, rode onward at a slower pace.

About an hour after, the day once more began to dawn, and he found himself winding in and out among the beautiful hills which border the Isere. Everything was rich, and fertile, and picturesque, and upon those scenes the eye of Bernard de Rohan could have rested with infinite pleasure at any other time; but now anxious eagerness hurried him on, scarcely remarking the objects around for any other purpose than to judge where he was, and how far from Gren.o.ble. A little after five in the morning he pa.s.sed through the small village of Montbonnat, and heard with gladness the a.s.surance of the people of the place that he was not much more than two leagues from Gren.o.ble.

After giving his horse a draught of water, he went on his way again through that beautiful district of streams and mountains, constantly ascending and descending, till at length, not far from the hamlet of Imfray, he saw before him a single horseman coming slowly on, the first person, in fact, whom he had met upon the road since he had set out the night before.

When the young cavalier first perceived him, the man was at the distance of some two hundred yards; but it was with no small pleasure that Bernard de Rohan at once recognised one of his own servants, named Pierre Millort, an honest but somewhat weak man, who had been born upon his own estates, and had served him for many years. He now felt certain of obtaining speedy news of Isabel de Brienne, and rode directly towards the other horseman, expecting that the man would remember his lord's person at once. The young n.o.bleman, however, dressed in the habit which had been given him by Corse de Leon, bore not at all his usual aspect, and good Pierre Millort also devoutly believed him to be dead. It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that he looked upon the person who approached him as a complete stranger; and, fancying that there was something in his appearance of a very doubtful nature, he drew his sword a little forward as he saw the strange cavalier riding directly up to him, and prepared to defend himself, in case of need, as well as might be.

When Bernard de Rohan called him by his name, however, asking if he did not recollect him, astonishment, not a little mingled with superst.i.tious fear, made the man nearly fall from his horse, and he felt strongly inclined to argue the matter with his young master, in order to persuade him that he was really dead. At length, becoming fully convinced that such was not the case, and that Bernard himself, in a bodily and corporeal form, was before his eyes, he gave him the information which he desired regarding Isabel de Brienne, though that information was by no means satisfactory to the young cavalier.

The lady had arrived at Gren.o.ble, he said, on the very same day that she had set out from Gandelot's inn; but, finding that her brother was not there, and had not sent any notice of his coming to the house in the city where she expected to hear of him, she had taken her departure on the following morning, in order to reach the capital and throw herself upon the protection of the king as speedily as possible. She hoped to arrive at Vienne in one day, the man continued, and had sent him off at once to convey intelligence of her route to somebody he was to meet at Gandelot's inn.

"Then how happened you not to be there last night?" demanded Bernard de Rohan. "Had you pursued your journey, you would have saved me the trouble of coming to Gren.o.ble, and would have enabled me to cut across the country and join her at Vienne this morning. Now she will be two whole days in advance of me."

"And not a horse will you get in Gren.o.ble with which to pursue your way," replied the man; "for that's the reason, sir, why I did not come on at once."

"Had you not your own horse?" demanded Bernard de Rohan, somewhat angrily.

"Yes, sir," answered the servant, "I had; but a sad accident happened to him, poor fellow. I left Gren.o.ble at the very same moment that the lady set out for Vienne; but I had not got far beyond La Tronche, when, the road being covered with loose stones which had rolled down from the hill, my horse slipped and fell, cutting both his knees to pieces. I was obliged to lead him back into the town, and no horse could I get for love or money, till at length I made a bargain with a peasant from Bachat to change with me, he taking my fine beast on the chance of curing him, and giving me this wretched animal in his stead, to enable me to go on my way. It is not, however, an hour since he brought the beast in. So you see, Sir, I have lost no time."