Though, of course, at that moment he was out of reach, being in the army that was blockading us. Not that we should ever have found out that we were blockaded, if we could have got any letters from any one, except for the scarcity of firewood. My mother wanted much to get to our own Queen, but the approaches to the Louvre were watched lest she should communicate with the Regent; and we were cut off from her till M. Darpent gave his word for us, and obtained for us a pa.s.s. And, oh! it was a sad sight to see the great courts and long galleries left all dreary and empty. It made me think of Whitehall and of Windsor, though we little knew that at that very time there was worse there than even desolation.

And when at last we reached our poor Queen's apartments, there was not a spark of fire in them. She was a guest there. She had no money, and all the wood had either been used up or pillaged; and there we found her, wrapped in a great fur cloak, sitting by the bed where was the little Lady Henrietta.

When my mother cried out with grief that the child should be ill, the poor Queen replied with that good-humoured laugh with which she met all the inconveniences that concerned herself alone: 'Oh, no, Madame, not ill, only cold! We cannot get any firewood, and so bed is the safest place for my little maid, who cares not if she can have her mother to play with her! Here is a new playfellow for thee, ma mie. Sweet Nan will sit by thee, and make thee sport, while I talk to her mother.'

So the child made the big four-post bed, all curtained round, into a fortress, and I besieged her there, till she screamed with glee, while the Queen took my mother's arm, and they paced the rooms together, sadly discussing the times and the utter lack of news from home, when the last tidings had been most alarming. Poor lady! I think it was a comfort to her, for she loved my mother; but we could not but grieve to see her in such a plight. As we went home we planned that we would carry a f.a.ggot in the carriage the next day, and that I would take it upstairs to her. And so I actually did, but the sentry insisted on knowing what I was carrying hidden in a cloak, and when he saw it, the honest man actually burst into tears that the daughter of Henri IV. should be in such straits. The Queen kissed me for it, and said I was like the good girl in Madame d'Aulnoy's tales, and she would fain be the benevolent fairy to reward me. And then the little Princess insisted that I was Capuchon Rouge, and that she was my Grandmother Wolf, and after making her great eyes at me, she ate me up with kisses over and over again! Ah! how happy children can be. It was strange to remember that this was the way King Charles's little daughter spent that 30th of January!

We had told M. Darpent of the condition in which we found the Queen, and he told the Coadjutor, who went himself to see her, and then stirred up the Parliament to send her regular supplies both of firing and provisions, so that she never suffered again in the same way.

Each day increased our anxiety for His Sacred Majesty. Lord Jermyn made his way into Paris, and came to consult with my mother, telling her that he had little doubt that the iniquitous deed had been consummated, and between them, by way of preparing the unhappy Queen, they made up a story that the King had been led out to execution, but had been rescued by the populace. I could not see that this would be of much use in softening the blow; in fact, I thought all these delicate false-hoods only made the suspense worse, but I was told that I was a mere downright English country la.s.s, with no notion of the refinements such things required with persons of sensibility.

So I told them, if ever I were in trouble, all I asked of them was to let me know the worst at once. One great pleasure came to the Queen at this time in the arrival of the Duke of York, who made his way into Paris, and arriving in the midst of dinner, knelt before his mother. He knew no more of his father than we did, and the Queen's urgent entreaty, undertook to go to St. Germain with a letter from her, asking what Queen Anne had heard from England.

The siege was not so strait but that unsuspected persons could get in and out, but after all, the poor Queen's anxiety and suspense were such that Lord Jermyn was forced to disclose the truth to her before Sir Andrew came back with the letters. She stood like a statue, and could neither move nor speak till night, when the d.u.c.h.ess of Vendome came and caressed her until at last the tears broke forth, and she sobbed and wept piteously all night. The next day she retired into the Carmelite convent in the Faubourg St. Jaques, taking my mother with her. As, according to French fashion, I was not to be left to keep house myself, my mother invited Sir Francis and Lady Ommaney to come and take charge of me, and a very good thing it was, for we at least had food enough, and my dear good friends had very little.

We were all stunned by the dreadful news from England. It was very sad old Sir Francis, who had borne without complaint the loss of land, honours, and home, nay, who had stood by to see his only son die at Naseby, sitting like one crushed, and only able to mutter now and then: 'My Master, my good Master.' You might know an English exile in those days by the mourning scarf and sad countenance. I remember a poor wild cavalier whom my mother and Meg never liked to admit when Eustace was not at home, going down on his knees to Lady Ommaney for a bit of black silk, when he looked as if he was starving.

We could not, of course, have evening receptions for our poor hungry countrymen in the absence of my mother, and with such sorrow upon us all, but Lady Ommaney and I did contrive pies and pasties, and all sorts of food that could be sent as gifts without offence to the families we thought most straitened.

The poor of Paris itself were not so very ill-off, for there were continual distributions of money and flour to keep them in good humour, and there were songs about.

'Le bon tems que c'etait A Paris Durant la famine, Tout le monde s'entrebaisait A Paris Durant la famine, La plus belle se contentait D'un simple boisseau de farine.'

La plus belle was the d.u.c.h.ess of Longueville, who tried hard to persuade the people that she was one with them. Her second son had been born only a few days after her expedition to the Hotel de Ville, and she asked the City of Paris to stand G.o.dmother to him in the person of the provosts and echevins. Afterwards she had a great reception, which Clement Darpent attended, and he told us the next morning that it had been the most wonderful mixture of black gowns and ca.s.socks, with blue scarfs and sword-knots, lawyers, ladies, warriors, and priests.

He continued to bring us tidings every day, and Sir Francis and Lady Ommaney really liked him, and said he was worthy to be an Englishman.

His father remained very ill, and day by day he told of the poor old man's pain and shortness of breath. Now Lady Ommaney had great skill in medicine, indeed there were those who said she had done the work of three surgeons in the war; and she had been of great service to my dear brother, Lord Walwyn, when he first came to Paris. She thought little or nothing of the French doctors, and waxed eloquent in describing to Clement Darpent how she would make a poultice of bran or of linseed. Now he had learned of my mother to read English easily, and to converse in it on all great matters of state and policy, but the household terms and idioms were still far beyond him, and dear good Lady Ommaney had never learned more French than enabled her to say 'Combien' when she made a purchase. Or if they had understood one another's tongue, I doubt me if any one could have learned the compounding of a poultice through a third person, and that a man!

So, while I was labouring to interpret, Lady Ommaney exclaimed, 'But why should I not come and show your mother?'

'Ah! if you would, Madame, that would verily be goodness,' returned Clement in his best English.

Well, I knew Eustace and Meg would have called me self-willed, when my mother had once made such a noise about our taking shelter from Broussel's mob at the Maison Darpent; but this was a mere visit of charity and necessity, for it was quite certain that the two good ladies could never have understood one another without me to interpret for them. Moreover, when Clement Darpent had rescued my sister from the mob, and was always watching to protect us, we surely owed him some return of grat.i.tude, and it would have been mere bourgeois.

So I went with Lady Ommaney, and was refreshed by the sight of that calm face of Madame Darpent, which she always seemed to me to have borrowed from the angels, and which only grew the sweeter and more exalted the greater was her trouble, as if she imbibed more and more of heavenly grace in proportion to her needs.

We did our best, Lady Ommaney and I, to show and explain, but I do not think it was to much purpose. The materials were not like our English ones, and though mother and son were both full of thanks and grat.i.tude, Madame Darpent was clearly not half convinced that what was good for an Englishman was good for a Frenchman, and even if she had been more fully persuaded, I do not think her husband would have endured any foreign treatment.

When we took leave she said, 'Permettez moi, ma chere demoiselle,' and would have kissed my hand, but I threw my arms round her neck embraced her, for there was something in her face that won my heart more than it had ever gone out to any woman I ever saw; and I saw by Lady Ommaney's whole face and gesture that she thought a great sorrow was coming on the good woman. I believe she was rather shocked, for she was a Huguenot by birth, and a Jansenist by conviction, and thus she did not approve of any strong signs of affection and emotion; but nevertheless she was touched and very kind and good, and she returned my embrace by giving me her sweet and solemn blessing.

And as he put me into the carriage, Clement, that foolish Clement, must needs thank me, with tears in his eyes, for my goodness to her.

'What do you mean, sir,' said I, 'by thanking me for what I delight in and value as a daughter?'

Whereupon I, equally foolish, knew what I had said, and felt my face and neck grow crimson all over, and what must he do, but kiss my hand in a rapture.

And all the way home I could hear old Lady Ommaney murmuring to herself, quite unconscious that she was speaking aloud, 'My stars! I hope I have not done wrong! What will my Lady Walwyn say? Not that he would be altogether a bad match for her after our notions. Her father was only a baron, and theirs is a good old family of the citizen sort, but then my Lady Walwyn is a Frenchwoman, and thinks all that is not n.o.ble the dirt under her feet.'

My heart gave a great bound, and then seemed to swell and take away my breath, so that I could not at first speak to stop those uttered thoughts, which made me presently feel as if I were prying into a letter, so as soon as I could get my voice I said, as well as I could, 'My Lady, I hear you.'

'Hear me! Bless me, was I talking to myself! I only was thinking that the poor old gentleman there is not long for this world. But maybe your mother would not call him a gentleman. Ha! What have they got written up there about the Cardinal?'

I read her the placard, and let her lead me away from the subject. I could not talk about it to any one, and how I longed for Eustace!

However, I believe terror was what most ailed the old gentleman (not that the French would call him so). He must always have been chicken-hearted, for he had changed his religion out of fear. His wife was all sincerity, but the dear good woman was religious for both of them!

And as time went on his alarms could not but increase. The Parliament really might have prevailed if it had any constancy, for all the provincial Parliaments were quite ready to take part with it, and moreover the Duke of Bouillon had brought over his brother, the Vicomte de Turenne, to refuse to lead his army against them, or to keep back the Spaniards. The Queen-Regent might really have been driven to dismiss the Cardinal and repeal the taxes if the city had held out a little longer, but in the midst the First President Mole was seized with patriotic scruples. He would not owe his success to the foreign enemies of his country, and the desertion of the army, and he led with him most of his compeers. I suppose he was right-I know Clement thought so-but the populace were sorely disappointed when negotiations were opened with the Queen and Court, and it became evident that the city was to submit without any again but some relaxation of the tax.

The deputies went and came, and were well mobbed everywhere. The Coadjutor and Duke of Beaufort barely restrained the populace from flying at the throat of the First President, who they fancied had been bribed to give them up. One wretch on the steps of the Palais de Justice threatened to kill the fine old man, who calmly replied, 'Well, friend, when I am dead I shall want nothing but six feet of earth.'

The man fell back, daunted by his quietness, and by the majesty of his appearance in his full scarlet robes. These alarms, the continual shouting in the streets, and the growing terror lest on the arrival of the Court all the prominent magistrates should be arrested and sent to the Bastille, infinitely aggravated President Darpent's disorder. We no longer saw his son every day, for he was wholly absorbed in watching by the sick-bed, and besides there was no further need, as he averred, of his watching over us. However, Sir Francis went daily to inquire at the house, and almost always saw Clement, who could by this time speak English enough to make himself quite intelligible, but who could only say that, in spite of constantly being let blood, the poor old man grew weaker and weaker; and on the very day the treaty was signed he was to receive the last rites of the Church.

CHAPTER XX. - CONDOLENCE

(By Margaret)

Our siege was over at last. I can hardly explain how or why, for there was no real settlement of the points at issue. I have since come to understand that the Queen and the Cardinal were alarmed lest the Vicomte de Turenne with his army should come to the a.s.sistance of his brother, the Duke of Bouillon, and thus leave the frontier open to the Spaniards; and that this very possibility also worked upon the First President Mole, who was too true a Frenchman not to prefer giving way to the Queen to bringing disunion into the army and admitting the invader. Most of the provincial Parliaments were of the same mind as that of Paris, and if all had united and stood firm the Court would have been reduced to great straits. It was well for us at St. Germain that they never guessed at our discomforts on our hill, and how impossible it would have been to hold out for a more complete victory.

I was glad enough to leave St. Germain the day after the terms had been agreed upon. The royal family did not yet move, but my term of waiting had long been expired; I burned to rejoin my mother and sister, and likewise to escape from the a.s.siduities of M. de Lamont, who was becoming more insufferable than ever.

So I asked permission of the Queen to let my son resume his studies, and of Mademoiselle to leave her for the time. Both were gracious, though the Queen told me I was going into a wasp's nest; while, on the other hand, Mademoiselle congratulated me on returning to those dear Parisians, and said she should not be long behind me. I was too much afraid of being hindered not to set out immediately after having received my license, so as to take advantage of the escort of some of the deputies with whom I had a slight acquaintance. I also hoped to avoid M. de Lamont's leave-takings, but I was not fortunate enough to do this. The absurd man, learning that I was on the point of departure, came rushing headlong into the court where the carriages stood, having first disordered his hair and untied his scarf, so as to give himself a distracted appearance, and thus he threw himself on his knees between me and the coach door, declaring that I was killing him and breaking his heart by my cruelty.

I was very angry, and afraid of showing any excitement, lest it should give him any advantage, so I only drew up my head coldly and said: 'Let me pa.s.s, sir.' But that only made him throw himself on the ground as if he would kiss my robe, whereupon Gasppard, with his hand on his little sword, said: 'Why don't you give him a good kick, mama?' This made everybody laugh; and I said, still keeping my head stiff: 'We will go round to the other door, my son, since there is this obstruction in our way.'

This we did before he could follow us; and the last I saw of M. de Lamont as I quitted St. Germain, he was still kneeling in the court, in the att.i.tude of an Orlando Furioso, reaching out his arms towards the departing carriage. I did not pity him, for I did not for a moment believe his pa.s.sion a serious one, and I thought his wife would not be much happier than my poor little sister-in-law, about whom I was very anxious, and as to these extravagances, they were the ordinary custom of those who professed to be lovers. He was one of the equerries-in-waiting on the d.u.c.h.ess of Orleans, and thus happily could not follow; and I never rejoiced more than when Gaspard and I, with my two women, had turned our backs on St. Germain and began to descend through the scattered trees of the forest towards Paris.

No less than forty carriages came out to meet the deputies on their return, and our progress was very slow, but at last we found ourselves at our hotel, where we were entirely unexpected, and the porter was so much surprised that, instead of announcing us properly, he rushed into the courtyard, screaming out: 'Madame! Monsieur le Marquis!' The whole household came rushing down the steps pell-mell, so that it was plain at the first glance that my mother was not there. Annora was the first to throw herself into my arms, with a shriek and sob of joy, which gave me a pleasure I cannot describe when I contrasted this meeting with our former one, for now again I felt that we were wholly sisters.

Gaspard sprang to the Abbe's neck, and declared himself tired of his holidays, and quite ready to resume his studies. They would be much pleasanter than running after the King and Duke of Anjou, and bearing the blame of all their pranks. My mother, I heard, was at the Convent of St. Jaques with her poor bereaved Queen, and she had left my sister in the charge of Sir Francis and Lady Ommaney.

The old lady came to welcome me; Sir Francis was out gone to inquire for the President Darpent; and before I had been an hour in the house, I found how entirely different a world it was from that which I had left, and how changed were the interests that absorbed it. Of my poor little Cecile scarcely anything was known. Annora had only seen her once or twice, and even the poor English Queen was second in interest to the illness of M. Darpent, and the fatigues of his wife in nursing him. It seemed to me as if Lady Ommaney and my sister discussed, as if he had been their near relation, every symptom of him, who, in the eyes of all my recent companions, was nothing better than an old frondeur, a rebel richly deserving to be put to death.

If Lady Ommaney had understood French, I really believe she would have gone to help Madame Darpent, who had now been sitting up for several nights; and though her son was most dutiful, and shared her vigils, taking every imaginable care of his father, he could not relieve her materially. The old man died the morning after my return home, and Sir Francis, who had been to inquire, reported that the funeral was to take place the next night by Madame's desire, as she was resolved that it should not be made an occasion for the meeting of inveighing against the Government as the remote cause of his death.

The city was, in fact, in a very unquiet state; nevertheless, Queen Henrietta returned to her apartments at the Louvre, and my mother came back to us, though when she found me at home, she only remained for one night. The Queen wanted her, and it was not convenient, in the condition of things, to be carried about in a sedan chair. Moreover I had a visit from my sister-in-law; I was astonished at her venturing out, but though very thin, she looked radiant, for her husband had come into Paris in the train of the Princes, and had actually pa.s.sed half an hour with her! I was less gratified when I found what he had come for. It was to desire his wife to come to me and inform me that it was the will and pleasure of the Prince of Conde that I should accept the addresses of the Baron de Lamont.

'Thank you, sister,' I said, smiling a little, for I knew it was of no use to scold her or argue with her, and I would have spoken of something else, but she held my hand and entreated: 'You will, then?'

'Oh! you have been charged to throw your influence into the scale,' I said, laughing; and the poor thing had to confess that he had said to her, with an air so n.o.ble, so amiable, that here was an opportunity of being of some real use to him if she would persuade Madame de Bellaise to marry M. de Lamont.

'To him!' I might well exclaim.

'Well, you see,' Cecile explained, 'M. le Prince said to him: 'The Bellaise is your sister-in-law, is she not? It is for you to overcome her ridiculous scruples and make her accept Lamont, who is desperately in love with her, and whose fortune needs to be repaired."

'I see,' I replied; 'but I cannot carry my complaisance so far.'

'But,' faltered Cecile, 'he is very handsome and very distinguished-'

'Come, Cecile, you have done your duty. That is enough.'

But the poor little thing thought herself bound still to persuade me with the arguments put into her mouth, till I asked her whether she could wish me to forget her brother, or if in my place she would do such a thing as give a father like M. de Lamont to her children. Then she began to weep, and asked me to forgive her, ending in her simplicity with: 'The Prince would have been pleased with my husband, and perhaps he would borne me good will for it!'

'Ah! Cecile,' I said, embracing her; 'I would do much for you, but you must not ask me to do this.'

The next question was about a visit of condolence to be paid to Madame Darpent. We still kept the Ommaneys with us, on the pretext that the presence of a gentleman gave a sense of security in the condition of the city, but chiefly because we feared that they would be half-starved in their lodgings.

Sir Francis told us that Madame Darpent was, 'after your French fashion,' as he said, receiving visits of condolence in her bed, and, considering how good and obliging the young man had been, he supposed we should pay one. Annora's eyes shone, but to my surprise she said nothing, and I was quite ready to consent, since I too felt under such obligations to the younger Darpent that I could let no scruple about condescension stand in my way, and I was glad that my mother could not hear of it until after it was done.

Lady Ommaney, however, looked rather old and mysterious. She came to my room and told me that she thought I ought to know, though she had no opportunity of telling my mother, that she could not but believe that she had observed a growing inclination between Mistress Annora and the young Monsieur Darpent. I suppose my countenance showed a certain dismay, for she explained that it might be only an old woman's fancy; but knowing what were our French notions as to n.o.bility and rank, and how we treated all honest gentry without t.i.tles like the dirt under our feet, she thought we ought to be warned. Though for her part, if the young gentleman were not a Papist and Frenchman, she did not see that Mistress Nan could do much better even if we were in England. Then she began giving me instances of barons' daughters marrying gentlemen learned in the law; and I listened with dismay, for I knew that these would serve to make my sister more determined, if it were really true that any such pa.s.sion were dawning. I saw that to her English breeding it would not seem so unworthy as it would to us, but to my mother it would be shocking, and I could not tell how my brother would look on it. The only recommendation in my eyes would be the very contrary in his, namely, that she might be led to embrace our religion; but then I thought Clement Darpent so doubtful a Catholic that she would be more likely to lead him away. My confidence was chiefly in his bourgeois pride, which was not likely to suffer him to pay his addresses where they would be disdained by the family, and in his scrupulous good faith, which would certainly prevent his taking advantage of the absence of the maiden's mother and brother.

However, I knew my sister well enough to be aware that to contradict her was the surest mode of making her resolute, and I thought it wiser that there should be no appearance of neglect or ingrat.i.tude to rouse her on behalf of the Darpents. So I agreed with Lady Ommaney that we would seem to take no notice, but only be upon our guard. We did not propose Annora's accompanying us on our visit of condolence, but she was prepared when the carriage came round, and we made our way, falling into a long line of plain but well-appointed equipages of the ladies of the robe, who were all come on the same errand, and we were marshalled into the house, and up the stairs by lackeys in mourning.

At the top of the great staircase, receiving everybody, stood Clement Darpent, looking rather pale, and his advocate's black dress decorated with heavy weepers of c.r.a.pe. When he saw us his face lighted up, and he came down to the landing to meet us, an attention of course due to our rank; but it was scarcely the honour done to the family that made his voice so fervent in his exclamation, 'Ah! this is true goodness,' though it was only addressed to me, and of course it was my hand that he held as he conducted us upstairs, and to the great chamber where his mother sat up in her bed, not, as you may imagine, in the cloud of lace and cambric which had coquettishly shrouded the widowhood of poor little Madame de Chatillon. All was plain and severe, though scrupulously neat. There was not an ornament in the room, only a crucifix and a holy-water stoup by the side of the bed, and a priest standing by, of the grave and severe aspect which distinguished those connected with Port Royal aux Champs. Madame Darpent's face looked white and shrunken, but there was a beautiful peace and calmness on it, as if she dwelt in a region far above and beyond the trifling world around her, and only submitted, like one in a dream, to these outward formalities. I felt quite ashamed to disturb her with my dull commonplace compliment of condolence, and I do not think she in the least saw or knew who we were as her lips moved in the formula of thanks. Then Clement led us away in the stream to the buffet, where was the cake and wine of which it was etiquette for every one to partake, though we only drank out of clear gla.s.s, not out of silver, as when the mourners are n.o.ble. Monsieur Verdon and some familiars of the house, whether friends or relations I do not know, were attending to this, and there was a hum of conversation around; but there was no acquaintance of ours present, and n.o.body ventured to speak to us, except that Clement said: 'She will be gratified, when she has time to understand.' And then he asked whether I had heard anything of my brother.

As the streets were tolerably clear, I thought we had better drive at once to the Louvre, to see my poor G.o.d-mother Queen and my mother.

Certainly it was a contrast. Queen Henrietta had been in agonies of grief at first, and I believe no day pa.s.sed without her weeping for her husband. Her eyes were red, and she looked ill; but she was quite as ready as ever to take interest in things around her; and she, as only English were present, made me come and sit on a stool at her feet and describe all the straits we had endured at St. Germain, laughing her clear ringing laugh at the notion of her solemn, punctilious Spanish sister-in-law living, as she said, en bergere in the middle of the winter, and especially amusing herself over her niece Mademoiselle's little fiction that her equipage had secured respect.

'That young Darpent is a useful and honest man,' she said. 'It is well if your beaux yeux have secured him as a protector in these times, my G.o.ddaughter.'

'It is for my brother's sake that he has been our friend,' I said stiffly, and my mother added that he had been engaged in our cause in the Ribaumont suit, as if that naturally bound him to our service, while the indignant colour flushed into Annora's cheek at thus dispensing with grat.i.tude. However, we were soon interrupted, for now that the way into the city was opened, and the widowed Queen had left her first solitude, every one was coming to pay their respects to her; and the first we saw arrive was Mademoiselle, who had no sooner exchanged her compliments with her royal aunt, than, profiting by another arrival, she drew me into a window and began: 'But, my good Gildippe, this is serious. You have left a distracted lover, and he is moving heaven and earth to gain you. Have you considered? You would gain a position. He has great influence with M. le Prince, who can do anything here.'

'Ah! Mademoiselle! Your Royal Highness too!' was all I could say, but I could not silence her. M. de Lamont had interested the Prince of Conde in his cause, and Mademoiselle, with her insane idea of marrying the hero, in case the poor young Princess should die (and some people declared that she was in a decline), would have thought me a small sacrifice to please him. So I was beset on all sides. I think the man was really enough in love to affect to be distracted. Though far less good-looking in my early youth than my sister, I was so tall and blonde as to have a distinguished air, and my indifference piqued my admirer into a resolution to conquer me.

Mademoiselle harangued me on the absurdity of affecting to be a disconsolate widow, on the step in rank that I should obtain, and the antiquity of M. de Lamont's pedigree, also upon all the ladies of antiquity she could recollect who had married again; and when I called Artemisia and Cornelia to the front in my defence, she betrayed her secret, like poor Cecile, and declared that it was very obstinate and disobedient in me not to consent to do what would recommend HER to the Prince.

Next came M. d'Aubepine, poor young man, with the air of reckless dissipation that sat so ill on a face still so youthful, and a still more ridiculous affectation of worldly wisdom. He tried to argue me into it by a.s.suring me that the Prince would henceforth be all-powerful in France, and that M. de Lamont was his protege, and that I was not consulting my own interest, those of my son, or of my family, by my refusal. When he found this ineffectual, he a.s.sured me peremptorily that it was the Prince's will, to which I replied, 'That may be, Monsieur, but it is not mine,' to which he replied that I was Mademoiselle, but that I should repent it. I said M. le Prince was not King of France, and I trusted that he never would be, so that I did not see why I should be bound to obey his will and pleasure. At which he looked so much as if I were uttering blasphemy that I could not help laughing. I really believe, poor fellow, that M. le Prince was more than a king to him, the G.o.d of his idolatry, and that all his faults might be traced to his blind worship and imitation.

I was not even exempt from the persuasions or commands of the great man himself, who was at that time dominating the councils of France, and who apparently could not endure that one poor woman should resist him. But he, being a Bourbon and a great captain to boot, set about the thing with a better grace than did the rest. It was in this manner. When peace, such as it was, was agreed upon, the Princes came in to Paris, and of course they came to pay their visit of ceremony to Queen Henrietta. It was when I happened to be present, and before leaving her apartment, the Prince came to me, and bending his curled head and eagle face, said, with a look and gesture clearly unaccustomed to opposition: 'Madame, I understand that you persist in cruelty to my friend, M. de Lamont. Permit me to beg of you to reconsider your decision. On the word of a Prince, you will not have reason to repent. He is under my protection.'

I thanked His Highness for his condescension, but I a.s.sured him that I had made up my mind not to marry again.

This made him frown, and his face, always harsh, and only redeemed from ugliness by the fire of his eyes, became almost frightful, so that it might have terrified a weak person into yielding; but of course all he could then do was to make a sign to M. de Lamont to approach, present him to me, and say, 'I have requested Madame to reconsider her decision,' with which he bowed and left us tete-a-tete in the throng.

Then I tried to cut short M. de Lamont's transports by telling him that he must not take the Prince's requesting as the same thing as my doing it. Moreover, I did what my mother said was brutal and unbecoming; I informed him that he was mistaken if he thought he should obtain any claim over my son's estate, for I had nothing but my husband's portion, and there were other guardians besides myself, who would not suffer a stranger to have any share in the administration. Therewith he vehemently exclaimed that I did him injustice, but I still believe that his intention was, if his Prince had remained all-powerful, to get the disposition of my son's property thrown into his hands. My brother Solivet was away with the army, Eustace in Holland, whence I longed to recall him.

Meantime, Sir Francis Ommaney had had become intimate with the Darpents, and so too had our good Abbe Bouchamp, who had a.s.sisted at the funeral ceremonies, and from whom the widow derived much consolation. From them we heard that she would fain have retired into the convent at Port Royal, only she would not leave her son. There were those who held that it was her duty not to let him stand between her and a vocation, especially as he was full grown, and already in the world; but she retained enough of her old training among the Huguenots to make her insist that since G.o.d had given her children, it was plain that He meant her to serve Him through her duty to them, and that if, through her desertion of him, Clement were tempted to any evil courses, she should never forgive herself. And our Abbe was the more inclined to encourage her in this resolve that he did not love the Jansenists, and had a mind sufficiently imbued with theology to understand their errors.

Certainly Clement showed no inclination to evil courses. In fact, he was so grave and studious that his mother cherished the hope of taking him with her to Port Royal to become one of the solitaries who transformed the desert into a garden. She said that with patience she should see him come to this, but in the meantime youth was sanguine, and he had not renounced the hope of transforming the world. I think she also foresaw that the unavowed love for Annora could scarcely lead to anything but disappointment, and she thought that, in the rebound, he would be willing to devote himself as one of those hermits.

He was certainly acting in a manner to astonish the world. He was not yet of sufficient age or standing to succeed to his father's chair as the President of one of the Chambers of the Parliament, but his promotion as one of the gens du roi (crown lawyers) had been secured by annual fees almost ever since he was born, and the robe of the Consellor who was promoted to the Presidency in the elder Darpent's room was awaiting him, when he declared his intention of accepting nothing that had been bought for him, but of continuing a simple advocate, and only obtaining what he could earn by his merits, not what was purchased. To this no doubt the feelings imbibed from my brother and sister had brought him. The younger men, and all the party who were still secret frondeurs, applauded him loudly, and he was quietly approved by the Chief President Mole who had still hopes that the domineering of the Prince of Conde and the unpopularity of Cardinal Mazarin would lead to changes in which ardent and self-devoted souls, like Clement's, could come to front and bring about improvements. The Coadjutor de Gondi, who was bent on making himself the head of a party, likewise displayed much admiration for one so disinterested, but I am afraid it was full of satire; and most people spoke of young Darpent as a fool, or else as a dangerous character.

And it might very possibly be that if he fell under suspicion, his solitude might not be that of Port Royal but of the Bastille. Yet I am not sure that his mother did not dread the patronage of the Coadjutor most of all.

CHAPTER XXI. - ST. MARGARET AND THE DRAGON

I was day after day worried and hara.s.sed by my suitor, so that I was very glad when, in the autumn, Madame de Rambouillet invited my sister and me to come and pa.s.s a few days with her, and see her vintage. We left my son under the care of the Abbe and of Sir Francis and Lady Ommaney, and set forth together in our coach with my women, and, as usual, mounted servants enough to guard us from any of the thieves or straggling soldiers who infested the roads.

For about a league all went well and quietly, but just at the cross-road leading to Chevreuse, a troop of hors.e.m.e.n sprang out upon us. There was a clashing of swords, a pistol-shot or two; I found myself torn from the arms in which my sister was trying to hold me fast, dragged out in spite of all our resistance, and carried into another carriage, at the door of which I was received by two strong arms; a handkerchief was thrown over my mouth to stop my screams, and though the inside of the coach was already darkened, my hands were tied and my eyes blinded as I was placed on the seat far in the corner; the door banged fast, and we drove swiftly away.

At first I was exhausted with my struggles, and in an agony of suffocation with the gag, which hindered me from getting my breath. I fancy I must have made some sound which showed my captors that unless they relieved me, I should perish in their hands. So the handkerchief was removed, and while I was panting, a voice said: 'It shall not be put on again, if Madame will give her word not to cry out.'

'It is of no use at present,' I gasped out, and they let me alone. I thought I knew that threats and entreaties could avail me little in the existing circ.u.mstances, and I thought it wiser to rally my forces for the struggle that no doubt was impending; so I sat as still as I could, and was rewarded by finding my hands unbound, when I tried to raise one to my face, and again the voice said: 'Believe us, Madame, you are with friends who would not hurt you for the universe.'

I made no answer. Perhaps it was in the same mood in which, when I was a child at home and was in a bad temper, I might be whipped and shut up in a dark room, but nothing would make me speak. Only now I said my prayers, and I am sure I never did so in those old days. We went on and on, and I think I must have dozed at last, for I actually thought myself wearied out with kicking, scratching, and screaming on the floor of the lumber-room at Walwyn, and that I heard the dear grandmother's voice saying: 'Eh! quoi! she is asleep; the sullen had stopped, and with the words, 'Pardon me, Madame,' I was lifted out, and set upon my feet; but my two hands were taken, and I was led along what seemed to be endless pa.s.sages, until at length my hands were released, and the same voice said: 'Madame will be glad of a few moments to arrange her dress. She will find the bandage over her eyes easy to remove.'

Before, however, I could pull it away, my enemy had shut the door from the outside, and I heard the key turn in it. I looked about me; I was in a narrow paved chamber, with one small window very high up, through which the sunbeams came, chequered by a tall tree, so high that I knew it was late in the day, and that we must have driven far. There was the frame of a narrow bedstead in one corner, a straw chair, a crucifix, and an empty cell in a deserted convent; but there was a stone table projecting from the wall, on which had been placed a few toilette necessaries, and a pitcher of water stood on the floor.

I was glad to drink a long draught, and then, as I saw there was no exit, I could not but make myself more fit to be seen, for my hair had been pulled down and hung on my shoulders, and my face-ah! it had never looked anything like that, save on the one day when Eustace and I had the great battle, and our grand-mother punished us both by bread and water for a week.

After I had made myself look a little more like a respectable widow, I knelt down before the crucifix to implore that I might be defended, and not be wanting to my son or myself. I had scarcely done so, however, when the door was opened, and as I rose to my feet I beheld my brother-in-law, d'Aubepine.

'Armand, brother,' I cried joyfully, 'are you come to my rescue? Did you meet my sister?'

For I really thought she had sent him, and I readily placed my hand in his as he said: 'It depends only on yourself to be free.' Even then I did not take alarm, till I found myself in a little bare dilapidated chapel, but with the altar hastily decked, a priest before it in his stole, whom I knew for the Abbe de St. Leu, one of the dissipated young clergy about Court, a familiar of the Conde clique, and, prepared to receive me, Monsieur de Lamont, in a satin suit, lace collar and cuffs, and deep lace round his boots.

I wrenched my hand from M. d'Aubepine, and would have gone back, but three or four of the soldiers came between me and the door. They were dragoons of the Conde regiment; I knew their uniform. Then I turned round and reproached d'Aubepine with his wicked treachery to the memory of the man he had once loved.

Alas! this moved him no longer. He swore fiercely that this should not be hurled at his head again, and throughout the scene, he was worse to me than even M. de Lamont, working himself into a rage in order to prevent himself from being either shamed or touched.

They acted by the will and consent of the Prince, they told me, and it was of no use to resist it. The Abbe, whom I hated most of all, for he had a loathsome face, took out a billet, and showed it to me. I clearly read in the large straggling characters-'You are welcome to a corporal's party, if you can by no other means reduce the pride of the little droll.-L. DE B.'

'Your Prince should be ashamed of himself,' I said. 'I shall take care to publish his infamy as well as yours.'

The gentlemen laughed, the Abbe the loudest, and told me I was quite welcome; such victories were esteemed honourable.