CHAPTER XXXVIII
THE AMOROUS JAILER
Diane de Castro received Lord Wentworth with the calm and modest dignity which lent an irresistible potency and charm to her angelic expression and her lovely features. Beneath her apparent calmness there was, however, much anguish of mind; and the poor girl trembled inwardly as she acknowledged the governor's salutation, and with a queenly gesture motioned him to take his seat on a couch a few paces away from her.
Then she signed to the two maids, who were apparently preparing to withdraw, to remain in the room; and as Lord Wentworth, lost in admiration, said nothing, she determined to break the silence herself.
"It is to Lord Wentworth, governor of Calais, that I am speaking, I believe?" said she.
"Lord Wentworth, Madame, your obedient servant, awaits your commands."
"My commands!" She repeated his words bitterly. "Oh, my Lord, do not say so, or I must think that you mock me! If my prayers and my supplications, in no sense commands, had been listened to, I should not be here. You know who I am, my Lord, and of what family?"
"I know, Madame, that you are Madame de Castro, the beloved daughter of King Henri II."
"Why, then, have I been made a prisoner?" asked Diane, whose voice faltered rather than became stronger as she put the question.
"For the very reason that you were a king's daughter, Madame," Wentworth replied; "because by the terms of the capitulation agreed to by Admiral de Coligny, it was stipulated that fifty prisoners should be placed in the hands of the victors, to be selected by them from all ranks, and of any age or either sex, and because they very naturally chose the most illustrious, the most dangerous, and if you will permit me to say so, those who could afford to pay the heaviest ransom."
"But how was it known," Diane rejoined, "that I was in hiding at St. Quentin under the name and in the garb of a Benedictine nun? Besides the superior of the convent, only one person in the whole town knew my secret."
"Very well! then it must have been that person who betrayed you,—that's all," said Lord Wentworth.
"Oh, no, indeed; I am sure it was not!" cried Diane, with such earnest conviction that Lord Wentworth felt stung to the heart by jealousy, and could find nothing to say in reply.
"It was the day after the capitulation of St. Quentin," continued Diane, with renewed animation. "I had fled for refuge, trembling and afraid, to the inmost corner of my cell. Some one in the parlor asked for Sister Bénie, which was my name as a novice, my Lord. It was an English soldier who inquired for me. I dreaded some misfortune, some terrible news. Nevertheless, I went down to the parlor, a prey to that dreadful curiosity which makes us even in our suffering so anxious to ascertain what causes our tears to flow. The archer, whom I had never seen before, announced that I was his prisoner. I was indignant and resisted; but what could I do against force? There were three of them; yes, my Lord, three soldiers to arrest one poor woman. I ask your pardon if this hurts you; but I am simply telling you what happened. These men seized me, and called upon me to confess that I was Diane de Castro, daughter of the King of France. I denied it at first; but as they were dragging me away, despite my denials, I asked to be taken to Monsieur l'Amiral de Coligny; and as the admiral did not know Sister Bénie, I avowed that I was she whom they named. Perhaps you believe, my Lord, that upon my avowal they yielded to my prayer and granted me the very simple favor of being taken to Monsieur l'Amiral, who would have recognized me and demanded my freedom! By no means! They simply exulted over their capture, pushed and dragged me along more quickly, and put me, or rather threw me, weeping and in despair, into a closed litter; and when, almost suffocated with sobs, and utterly overcome with grief, I nevertheless made an effort to learn whither I was being taken, I had already left St. Quentin and was on the road to Calais. Then Lord Grey, who, I was told, was in command of the escort, refused to listen to me; and I learned from a common soldier that I was his master's prisoner, and was being taken to Calais pending the payment of my ransom. Without any further information than that, I was brought here, my Lord."
"Unfortunately I can add nothing more, Madame," responded Lord Wentworth, thoughtfully.
"Nothing, my Lord!" continued Diane. "You cannot tell me why I was not allowed to speak to the superior of the Benedictines, nor to Monsieur l'Amiral! You cannot tell me for what purpose I am wanted, pray, when I was not allowed to go near those who might have announced my captivity to the king, and have sent the amount of the ransom you demand from Paris! Why this sort of secret abduction! Why was I not allowed even to see Lord Grey, who gave orders for all this, as I was informed?"
"You did see Lord Grey, Madame, a short time ago, when you passed us. It was he with whom I was talking, and who saluted you when I did."
"Pardon me, my Lord; I knew not in whose presence I was," said Diane. "But since you have talked with Lord Grey, who is your kinsman, so this maid informs me, he must have informed you of his intentions toward me."
"In fact, Madame, before taking ship for England, he did explain them to me,—indeed, he was just doing so when you were being escorted to this house. He informed me that you had been mentioned to him at St. Quentin as being the king's daughter; and that having three prisoners allotted to him for his share, he had eagerly seized upon so valuable a prize without notifying a soul, thus avoiding all dispute. His simple object was to get the largest possible ransom for you, Madame; and I was jokingly applauding my covetous brother-in-law when you passed through the room where we were talking. I saw you, Madame; and I at once realized that if you were the king's daughter by right of birth, you were a very queen by right of loveliness. From that moment, to my shame be it said, I entirely changed my opinion as to Lord Grey's plans for the future at least, if not as to what he had already done. Yes; and I no longer approved his design of holding you to ransom. I urged upon him that we might hope for much greater things,—that England and France being at war, you might be very useful as an exchange for some important prisoner, and that you might even be worth a town. In short, I at last persuaded him not to abandon so rich a prize for a few paltry crowns. You are at Calais,—a town that belongs to us, and is impregnable; we must therefore keep you in our hands and wait.”
"What!" exclaimed Diane. "You gave Lord Grey such advice as that, and boast about it to my face! Oh, my Lord, why did you thus set yourself against my being set at liberty? What had I ever done to you? You had seen me only for a moment. Did you hate me, pray?"
"I had seen you for but one moment, and I loved you, Madame," said Lord Wentworth, desperately.
Diane recoiled, shuddering and turning pale.
"Jane! Mary!" she cried, calling the two attendants, who were standing apart in the embrasure of a window.
But Wentworth made an imperious sign to them, and they did not stir. Then he continued, sighing sadly,—
"Be not alarmed, Madame. I am a gentleman; and it is not you, but I, who should fear and tremble. Yes, I love you, and could no longer refrain from telling you so; yes, when I saw you pass, so sweet and lovely, and so like a goddess, my whole heart went out to you. Yes, besides, you are in my power here; and I have but to raise my hand to be obeyed. But never mind; fear nothing, for I am more in your power, alas! than you are in mine; and of the two, you are not the real prisoner. You are the queen, Madame, and I your faithful slave. Command, and I obey."
"Then, Monsieur," said Diane, with palpitating heart, "send me back to Paris, whence I will send you such sum by way of ransom as you choose to name."
Lord Wentworth hesitated a moment before he replied,—
"Anything but that, Madame: for I feel that sacrifice is beyond my strength. I tell you that one glance from your eyes has bound my life to yours forever! Here, in this place of banishment where I am caged up, it is long since my ardent heart has entertained a passion worthy of itself. As soon as I saw you, so beautiful and noble and proud, I felt that all the stored-up energy of ray soul had henceforth an object and an end. I have loved you for but two hours; but if you knew me, you would know that it is as if I had loved you ten years."
"But in Heaven's name, what is your wish, my Lord?" said Diane. "What do you hope for? What do you expect? What is your purpose?"
"I wish to see you, Madame, and to revel in your lovely and fascinating presence,—that is all. Do not for a moment suspect me of designs unworthy a gentleman. But it is my right, my blessed right, to keep you near me; and I profit by it."
"And do you suppose, my Lord," said Madame de Castro, "that such violence will drive my heart into responding to yours?"
"I do not suppose so," said Lord Wentworth, gently; "but when you see from day to day how submissive I am, and how respectful, and how eagerly I come to learn of your welfare, and to be able to feast my eyes upon you for a moment, perhaps you will be touched by the resignation of one who begs where he might command."
"And then the daughter of France, moved to pity, would become the mistress of Lord Wentworth?" was Diane's rejoinder, with a contemptuous smile.
"Then," responded the governor, "Lord Wentworth, the last scion of one of the wealthiest and most illustrious families in England, on his knees will offer his name and his life to Madame de Castro. My passion, you see, is as honorable as it is sincere."
"Is he ambitious, I wonder?" thought Diane.
"Listen, my Lord," she rejoined aloud, trying to force a smile. "I advise you to let me go, and send me to my father the king; and I will not consider myself out of your debt by the mere payment of a ransom. When the war between the two countries is at an end, as it must be sooner or later, if I cannot give you myself, I will at least obtain for you,—I give you my word,—as many, yes, more and greater, honors and dignities than you could hope for if you were my husband. Be generous, my Lord, and my gratitude shall be yours."
"I divine your thoughts, Madame," said Wentworth, bitterly; "but I am more disinterested than you think, and more ambitious as well. Of all the treasures in the whole universe, I hope only for you."
"One word more, then, my Lord, which you will perhaps understand better," said Diane, embarrassed but proud at the same time. "I am beloved by another, my Lord."
"And do you suppose I am going to deliver you to this rival by letting you go?" cried Wentworth, fairly beside himself. "No! he shall at least be as wretched as I,—more wretched, indeed, for he cannot see you, Madame. From this day only three events can deliver you: either my death,—and I am still young and vigorous; or peace between France and England,—but wars between those countries usually last a hundred years, as you know; or the taking of Calais,—but Calais is impregnable. In default of the occurrence of one of these three almost hopeless events, I fancy you will be my prisoner for a long time; for I have purchased all Lord Grey's rights over you, and I would not receive a ransom for you, even though it were an empire! As for flight, it will be better for you not to think of it; for I shall watch you, and you will see what a careful and cautious jailer a man makes who is in love."
With these words Lord Wentworth bowed low and withdrew, leaving Diane a prey to bitter despair.
Her only consolation, and that but a slight one, lay in the reflection that death was a sure refuge, which was always open for the unfortunate when danger was at its height.