CHAPTER XIII
THE ACME OF HAPPINESS
"Here, Master Martin," said Gabriel to his squire on the same day and almost at the same hour, "I must go and make my rounds, and shall not return to the house within two hours. Do you, Martin, in one hour go to the usual place and wait there for a letter, an important letter, which Jacinthe will hand you as usual. Don't lose a moment, but make haste to bring it to me. If I have finished my rounds, I shall be before you, otherwise await me here. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Monseigneur, but I have a favor to ask of you."
"What is it?"
"Let me have one of the Guards to keep me company, Monseigneur, I implore you."
"A guard to keep you company. What is this new madness? What are you afraid of?"
"I am afraid of myself," replied Martin, piteously. "It seems, Monseigneur, that I outdid myself last night! Up to then I had exhibited myself only as a drunkard and a gambler and a bully; but now I have become a rake! I whom all Artigues respected for the purity of my morals and my ingenuous mind! Would you believe, Monseigneur, that I have sunk so low as to have made an attempt at abduction last night? Yes, at abduction! I tried by main force to carry off the wife of Gorju, the iron-monger,—a very lovely woman, so they say. Unfortunately, or fortunately rather, I was arrested; and if I had not been still in your employ, and recommended by you, I should have passed the night in prison. It's infamous!"
"Well, Martin, were you dreaming when you committed this last prank?"
"Dreaming! Monseigneur, here is the report. When I read it, I blushed up to my ears. Yes, there was a time when I believed that all these infernal performances were frightful nightmares, or that the Devil amused himself by taking on my form for the purposes of his horrible nightly deeds. But you undeceived me; and besides, I never see now the one that I used to take for my shadow. The holy priest in whose hands I have placed the guidance of my conscience has also undeceived me; and he who so persistently violates all divine and human laws, the guilty one, the wretch, the villain, is no doubt myself, judging from what is told me. So that is what I shall believe henceforth. Like a hen who hatches out ducklings, my soul has given birth to honest thoughts, which have resulted in wicked deeds. I should not dare to say except to you that I am possessed, Monseigneur, because if I did I should be burned alive at short notice; but it must be, as you can see, that at certain times I really do have, as they say, the Devil in me."
"No, no, my poor Martin," said Gabriel, laughing; "but you have been indulging rather too freely in strong drink for some time, I fancy, and when you are drunk, why, deuce take it! you see double."
"But I never drink anything but water, Monseigneur, nothing but water! Surely this water from the Seine doesn't go to the head—"
"But, Martin, how about the evening when you were laid under the porch dead-drunk?"
"Well, Monseigneur, that evening I went to bed and to sleep, commending my soul to God; I rose also as virtuous as when I went to bed; and it was from you and you only that I learned what I had been doing. It was the same way the night when I wounded that magnificent gendarme, and the other night of this most shameful assault. And yet I get Jérôme to shut my door and lock me into my room, and I close the shutters and fasten them with triple chains; but, basta! nothing is of any use. I must believe that I get up, and that my vicious night-walking existence begins. In the morning when I wake I ask myself. 'What have I been doing, I wonder, during my absence last night?' I go down to find out from you, Monseigneur, or from the district reports, and at once go to relieve my conscience of these new crimes at the confessional, where I can no longer obtain absolution, which is rendered impossible by my everlasting backsliding. My only consolation is to fast and mortify the flesh part of every day by severe scourging. But I shall die, I foresee it, in final impenitence."
"Rather believe, Martin, that this evil spirit will be appeased, and that you will become once more the discreet and sober Martin of other days. Meanwhile, obey your master, and faithfully discharge the commission with which he intrusts you. But how can you ask me to allow you to have any one with you? You know very well that all this business must be kept secret, and that you alone are in my confidence."
"Be sure, Monseigneur, that I will do my utmost to satisfy you. But I cannot answer for myself, I warn you beforehand."
"Oh, this is too much, Martin! Why do you say so?"
"Don't be impatient on account of my absence, Monseigneur. I think that I am there, and I am here; that I will do this, and I do that. The other day, having thirty Paters and thirty Aves to say for penance, I determined to triple the dose so as to mortify my spirit by tiring myself beyond endurance; and I remained or thought that I remained in the church of St. Gervais telling my beads for two hours and more. Oh, well! when I got back here I learned that you had sent me to carry a letter, and that in proof of it I had brought back a reply; and the next day Dame Jacinthe—another fine woman, alas!—complained of me for having been rather free with her the day before. And that has happened three times, Monseigneur; and you wish me to be sure of myself after my imagination has played me such tricks as that? No, no, I am not sufficiently master of myself for that; and although the blessed water does not burn my fingers, still there are times when there is somebody else than Master Martin in my skin."
"Well, I will run the risk," said Gabriel, losing his patience; "and since you have, at all events up to now, whether you have been at church or in the Rue Froid-Manteau, skilfully and faithfully acquitted yourself of the trust I have imposed upon you, you will do the same to-day; and let me tell you, if you need such a stimulus to your zeal, that in this letter you will bring me my happiness or my despair."
"Oh, Monseigneur, my devotion to you doesn't need to be worked upon, I assure you; and if it wasn't for these devilish substitutions—"
"What! are you going to begin again?" Gabriel interrupted. "I must go; and do you start too in about an hour, and don't forget a single point of my instructions. One word more: you know that for several days past I have been anxiously expecting my nurse Aloyse out of Normandy; and you understand that if she comes while I am away, you must give her the room adjoining mine, and make her as welcome as if she were in her own house. You will remember?"
"Yes, Monseigneur."
"Come, then, Martin, we must be prompt to act, and discreet, and, above all, not lose our presence of mind."
Martin replied only with a repressed sigh; and Gabriel left his house in the Rue des Jardins.
He came back two hours later, as he had said, absorbed and preoccupied. As he entered, he saw only Martin, rushed up to him, seized the letter which he had expected with so much impatience, made a gesture of dismissal, and read:—
"Let us thank God, Gabriel," said this letter; "the king has yielded, and our happiness is assured. You must have learned of the arrival of the herald from England, bearing a declaration of war in the name of Queen Mary, and of the great preparations in Flanders. These events, threatening for France, perhaps, are favorable to our love, Gabriel, since they add to the influence of the young Duc de Guise, and tend to lower that of old Montmorency. The king, however, still hesitated; but I implored him, Gabriel: I said that I had found you again, and that you were noble and valiant; and I told him your name—so much the worse! The king, without promising anything, said that he would reflect; that after all, when the affairs of State became less urgent, it would be cruel in him to compromise my happiness; and that he could make some amends to François de Montmorency with which he would have to be content. He has promised nothing, but he will do everything, Gabriel. Oh, you will learn to love him, as I do, this kind father of mine, who is going to bring to pass all the dreams we have dreamed these last six years! I have so much to say to you, and these written words are so cold! Listen, my friend, come to-night at six o'clock during the council. Jacinthe will bring you to me, and we will have a good long hour to talk of the bright future which is opening before us. But I can foresee that this Flanders campaign will claim you, and that you must make it, alas! to serve the king and to deserve my hand,—mine, who love you so dearly. For I do love you, mon Dieu, I do! Why should I try now to conceal it from you? Come to me, then, so that I may see if you are as happy as your Diane."
"Oh, yes, indeed I am happy!" cried Gabriel, aloud, when he had finished the letter; "and what is lacking to my happiness now?"
"The presence of your old nurse, no doubt," unexpectedly replied Aloyse, who had been sitting motionless and silent in the shadow.
"Aloyse!" cried Gabriel, rushing to her and embracing her: "oh, Aloyse, my dear old nurse, if you only knew how I wanted you! How are you? You have not changed a bit. Kiss me again. I have not changed any more than you, in heart at least,—the heart that loves you so. I was worried to death at your delay: ask Martin. And why have you kept me waiting so long?"
"The recent storms, Monseigneur, have washed away the roads; and if I had not been in so great a state of excitement over your letter that it made me brave enough to venture in spite of obstacles of every sort, I should not have been here yet."
"Oh, you did very well to make such haste, Aloyse, you did very well; for really what good is it to be so happy all by one's self? Do you see this letter I have just received? It is from Diane, your other child, and she tells me—do you know what she tells me?—that the obstacles which stood in the way of our love may be removed; that the king will no longer require her to marry François de Montmorency; and last and best of all, that Diane loves me,—yes, that she loves me! And you are at hand to hear all this, Aloyse; so tell me, am I not really at the very acme of happiness?"
"But suppose, Monseigneur," said Aloyse, maintaining the grave and melancholy tone she had assumed at first, "suppose that you had to give up Madame de Castro?"
"Impossible, Aloyse! and just when these difficulties have smoothed themselves all out!"
"Difficulties created by man may always be overcome," said the nurse; "but not so with those which God interposes, Monseigneur. You know whether I love you, and whether I would not give my life to spare yours the mere shadow of trouble; well, then, suppose I say to you: 'Without asking for the reason, Monseigneur, give up all thoughts of Madame de Castro, cease to see her, and crush out this passion for her by every means in your power. A fearful secret, which in your own interest I implore you not to ask me to disclose, lies between you two, to keep you apart.' Suppose I should say this to you, begging you on my knees to do as I asked, what would your reply be, Monseigneur?"
"If it were my life which you asked me to destroy, Aloyse, without asking for the reason, I would gratify you. But my love is a matter outside my own will, nurse, for it also comes from God."
"Oh, good Lord!" cried the nurse, joining her hands, "he blasphemes. But you see that he knows not what he does, so pardon him, good Lord!"
"But you terrify me; don't keep me so long in this deathly anguish, Aloyse, but whatever you would or ought to tell me, speak, speak, I implore you!"
"Do you wish it, Monseigneur? Must I really reveal to you the secret which I have sworn before God to keep, but which God Himself to-day bids me keep no longer? Well, then, Monseigneur, you are deceived; you must be, do you hear, it is absolutely necessary that you should be deceived as to the nature of the sentiment which Diane inspires in you. It is not desire and passion (oh, no! be sure that it is not), but it is a serious and devoted affection, due to her need of the protecting hand of a friend and brother,—nothing more tender or more absorbing than that, Monseigneur."
"But you are wrong, Aloyse; the fascinating beauty of Diane—"
"I am not wrong," Aloyse made haste to say, "and you will soon agree with me; for the proof of what I say will soon be as clear to you as to myself. Know, then, that in all human probability Madame de Castro—courage, my dear boy!—Madame de Castro is your sister!"
"My sister!" cried Gabriel, leaping from his chair as if he were on springs. "My sister!" he repeated, almost beside himself. "How can it be that the daughter of the king and Madame de Valentinois should be my sister?"
"Monseigneur, Diane de Castro was born in May, 1539, was she not? Comte Jacques de Montgommery, your father, disappeared in January of the same year; and do you know of what he was suspected? Do you know what the accusation was against him, your father? That he was the favored lover of Madame Diane de Poitiers, and the successful rival of the dauphin, who is to-day King of France. Now, compare the dates, Monseigneur."
"Heavens and earth!" cried Gabriel. "But let us see, let us see," he went on, making a supreme effort to collect his senses; "my father was accused, but who proved that the accusation had any basis in fact? Diane was born five months after my fathers death; but how does that prove that she is not the daughter of the king, who loves her as his own child?"
"The king may be mistaken, just as I too may be mistaken, Monseigneur; remember that I didn't say, 'Diane is your sister!' But it is probable that she is; or if you choose, it is possible that she may be. Is it any less my duty, my horribly painful duty, to give you this information, Gabriel? I am right to do it, am I not? for you wouldn't give her up without it. Now let your conscience decide as to your love; and may God guide your conscience!"
"Oh, but this uncertainty is a million times more horrible than the calamity itself," said Gabriel. "Mon Dieu! who can solve this doubt for me?"
"The secret has been known to only two persons on earth, Monseigneur," said Aloyse; "and there have been but two human beings who could have answered you: your father, who is buried in an unknown tomb, and Madame de Valentinois, who will not be likely to confess, I imagine, that she has deceived the king, and that her daughter is not his."
"Yes; and in any event, if I do not love my own father's daughter," said Gabriel, "I love the daughter of my father's murderer! For it is the king, it is Henri II., on whom I must wreak vengeance for the death of my father, is it not, Aloyse?"
"Who knows but God?" replied the nurse.
"Confusion and darkness, doubt and terror everywhere!" cried Gabriel. "Oh, I shall go mad, nurse! But no," continued the brave youth, "I must not go mad yet; I must not! I will in the first place exhaust every possible means of learning the truth. I will go to Madame de Valentinois, and will demand from her the secret, which I will sacredly keep. She is a good and devout Catholic, and I will obtain from her an oath which will make me sure of her sincerity. I will go to Catherine de Médicis, who may perhaps know something. I will go to Diane, too, and with my hand on my heart will ask the question of my heart-beats. I would go to my father's tomb, if I but knew where it lies, Aloyse, and I would call upon him with a voice so potent that he would rise from the dead to reply to me."
"Poor dear child!" whispered Aloyse, "so brave and strong, even after this fearful blow; and showing such a bold front to such a cruel fate!"
"And I will not lose a moment about going to work," said Gabriel, rising with a sort of feverish animation. "It is now four o'clock; in half an hour I shall be with Madame la Sénéchale; an hour later with the queen; and at six at the rendezvous where Diane awaits me; and when I see you again this evening, Aloyse, I may perhaps have lifted a corner of this gloomy veil in which my destiny is now shrouded. Farewell till evening."
"And I, Monseigneur, can I do nothing to help you in this formidable undertaking?"
"You can pray to God for me, Aloyse."
"For you and Diane, yes, Monseigneur."
"Pray for the king, too, Aloyse," said Gabriel, darkly, and he left the room precipitately.