CHAPTER XXV
HAPPY OMENS
"Why?" Babette Peuquoy replied to the melancholy and doubting tone of Gabriel's last words, "are you not successful in everything you undertake?—in the defence of St. Quentin and the capture of Calais as well as in arranging a happy marriage for poor Babette?"
"Yes, it is true," said Gabriel, with a sad smile; "God seems to have decreed that the most insuperable and most alarming obstacles in my path should vanish like magic at my approach; but, alas! that is no proof, my dear child, that I shall finally attain the end which I so earnestly desire."
"Ah," said Jean Peuquoy, "you have made too many others happy, not to be happy yourself at last."
"I accept the omen, Jean," replied Gabriel, "and there could be no more favorable augury of my own success than to leave my friends in Calais peaceful and happy. But you know that it is necessary that I should leave you now, perhaps to become immersed in sorrow and in tears—who can tell? Let us at all events leave no regrets behind, and let us arrange everything in which we are interested."
So they fixed a day for the wedding, which Gabriel, to his great regret, was not able to attend, and then agreed upon the day upon which Jean and Babette were to start for Paris.
"It may be," said Gabriel, sadly, "that you will not find me at home to welcome you. I hope that will not be the case, but I may perhaps be obliged to be absent from Paris and the court for a time. But let that make no difference about your coming. Aloyse, my good old nurse, will entertain you in my behalf as well as I myself could do. You and she must, however, give a thought now and then to your absent host."
Martin-Guerre had to remain at Calais, notwithstanding all his remonstrances and entreaties. Ambroise Paré declared that his convalescence would be very slow and tedious, and meanwhile he would require the most constant care and watchfulness. Therefore his choler was of no avail, and he was obliged to yield.
"But as soon as you are entirely well, my faithful fellow," said Vicomte d'Exmès, "come to Paris; and whatever may befall, I will fulfil my promise to you, never fear, and deliver you from your strange persecutor. Now I am doubly bound to do it."
"Oh, Monseigneur, think of yourself, not of me," said Martin-Guerre.
"Every obligation will be met," Gabriel resumed; "but I must say 'adieu,' my good friends, for it is time for me to return to Monsieur de Guise. I have asked certain favors of him in your presence, which he will accord me, I think, in consideration of the services I have been fortunate enough to render during these recent occurrences."
But the Peuquoys refused to take leave of Gabriel thus. They insisted upon meeting him at the Paris gate at three o'clock, to see him once more and say farewell to him there.
Martin-Guerre was the only one who had to say his last words to his master at this moment, and they were not uttered without regret and sorrow. But Gabriel comforted him somewhat with a few of the kind expressions which came so naturally to his lips.
A quarter of an hour later Vicomte d'Exmès was ushered into the presence of the Duc de Guise.
"Oh, there you are, my ambitious young friend!" said the duke, as he saw him come in.
"My only ambition has been to do my best to second your efforts, Monseigneur," said Gabriel.
"Oh, from that point of view you have shown no ambition at all," rejoined Le Balafré (we may henceforth give the duke that name, or, more properly speaking, that title). "I call you ambitious, Gabriel," he continued playfully, "because of the innumerable extravagant requests you have made upon me; and upon my word I am not sure that I can satisfy you."
"I based them rather upon what I knew of your benevolence than upon my own poor merits," said Gabriel.
"You have a very high opinion of my benevolence, then," said the Duc de Guise, with mild raillery. "I leave it to you, Monsieur de Vaudemont," he continued, turning to a gentleman seated beside his bed, who had just come to visit him,—"I leave it to you to say if any one should be allowed to present such paltry requests to a prince."
"Consider that I erred in what I said, then, Monseigneur," Gabriel responded, "and that I based my requests upon my own merits and not upon your benevolence."
"Another blunder!" cried the duke; "for your gallantry is a hundred times beyond my power to recompense. Now just listen for a moment, Monsieur de Vaudemont, and let me tell you of the unprecedented favors which Monsieur d'Exmès asks at my hands."
"I venture to predict, Monseigneur," said the Marquis de Vaudemont, "that they are sure to be absurdly small, both in proportion to his merit and your power. However, let me hear them."
"In the first place," continued the duke, "Monsieur d'Exmès asks me to take back to Paris with me the little band of volunteers whom he enlisted at his own expense and for his own purpose, but meanwhile to make such use as I please of them. He reserves only four men to serve as his own suite on his journey to Paris. And these brave fellows, whom he thus lends to me under pretense of recommending them to me, are no others, Monsieur de Vaudemont, than the incarnate fiends who accompanied him in that marvellous escalading expedition which ended in the capture of the impregnable Risbank fort. Well, which of us renders the other a service in this transaction, Monsieur d'Exmès or myself?"
"I must confess that Monsieur d'Exmès does," said the Marquis de Vaudemont.
"And by my faith, I accept this new obligation," resumed the duke, gayly. "I shall not allow your eight fellows to spoil in idleness, Gabriel. As soon as I can leave my bed I will take them with me on my expedition against Ham; for I do not propose to leave the English one foot of earth in our dear France. Malemort himself, the everlastingly wounded man, will be on hand, too; for Master Pare has promised that he shall be cured as soon I am."
"He will be very fortunate, Monseigneur," said Gabriel.
"So, then, there is your first request granted, and with no great effort on my part. In the second place, Monsieur d'Exmès reminds me that Madame Diane de Castro, the king's daughter, whom you know, Monsieur de Vaudemont, is here at Calais, where she has been held prisoner by the English. Vicomte d'Exmès, realizing how deeply I am engrossed with other matters, has very opportunely reminded me to assure this lady of the royal blood of the protection and respect which are her due. Does, or does not Monsieur d'Exmès render me a service in this matter also?"
"Without the slightest doubt," replied the Marquis de Vaudemont.
"The second point is settled, then," said the duke. "My orders are already given; and whilst I am reputed to be an indifferent courtier, I am altogether too sensible of my duty as a gentleman, to forget at this time the consideration which is due to the person and exalted rank of Madame de Castro; therefore, a suitable escort will be ready to accompany her to Paris, when and how she chooses."
Gabriel expressed his gratitude only by a deep inclination, fearing that he might betray the interest and importance which that promise had for him.
"In the third place," resumed the Duc de Guise, "Lord Wentworth, the English governor of this city, was taken prisoner by Monsieur d'Exmès. In the terms of capitulation granted to Lord Derby, we bound ourselves to admit him to ransom; but Monsieur d'Exmès, to whom both prisoner and ransom belong, permits us to show ourselves still more liberal. In fact, he asks for our authority to send Lord Wentworth to England without requiring him to pay any price for his freedom. Will not this action give great éclat to our courtesy, even beyond these narrow limits; and does not Monsieur d'Exmès thereby render us once more a service of real value?"
"Undoubtedly, as is demonstrated by Monseigneur's noble appreciation of it," said Monsieur de Vaudemont.
"Make your mind easy, Gabriel," said the duke; "Monsieur de Thermes has gone, on your behalf and mine, to set Lord Wentworth at liberty and return his sword to him. He may leave the city as soon as he desires."
"I thank you, Monseigneur," said Gabriel; "but do not give me credit for too much magnanimity. I am only requiting Lord Wentworth for various courtesies he extended to me when I was myself his prisoner, and giving him at the same time a lesson in fair dealing and probity; I doubt not he will understand the allusion and the implied reproof."
"You have more reason than any one else to deal sternly with him upon such questions," said the duke in all seriousness.
"Now, Monseigneur," said Gabriel, much disturbed to find the principal object of his solicitude ignored by the Duc de Guise, "allow me to remind you of the promise you were good enough to make me in my tent on the eve of the capture of the Risbank fort.”
"Wait one moment, I beg, O most impatient youth!" said Le Balafré. "In consideration of these three eminent services which I have rendered you, which Monsieur de Vaudemont has verified, I have well earned the right to demand a favor at your hands. I ask you then, as you are about to start so soon for Paris, to take with you and present to the king the keys of the city of Calais—"
"Oh, Monseigneur!" Gabriel interrupted, in an outburst of gratitude.
"You will not find that a very burdensome duty, I fancy," said the duke. "Besides, you are used to commissions of this sort, for you know I intrusted to your care the flags captured in our Italian campaign."
"Ah, how well you understand the art of doubling the force of your kind deeds by your manner of performing them!" cried the enraptured Gabriel.
"Further than that," continued the duke, "you will hand to his Majesty at the same time a copy of the capitulation, and this letter, which I wrote this morning from beginning to end with my own hand despite the orders of Master Ambroise Paré. But you see," he added significantly, "no one could possibly have done you justice, Gabriel, or asked that justice be done you by others, with so much assurance as myself. Now I trust you will be satisfied with me, and that the result of what I have done will be that you will have nothing with which to reproach the king. Here, my friend, are the keys and the letter. I have no need to charge you to take care of them."
"And I, Monseigneur, have no need to say that I am yours in life and death," said Gabriel, in a voice choked with emotion.
He took the little box of carved wood and the sealed letter which the duke handed him. They were the priceless talismans which might perhaps be the means of procuring for him his father's freedom and his own happiness.
"Now I will not detain you longer," said the Duc de Guise. "You are probably in haste to be on your way; and I, less fortunate than you, find myself, after this morning of excitement, in a state of weariness, which enjoins rest upon me even more imperiously than Master Ambroise Paré."
"Adieu, then; and once more, Monseigneur, accept my heartfelt thanks," said Vicomte d'Exmès.
At this moment Monsieur de Thermes, whom the Duc de Guise had sent to Lord Wentworth, hurried into the room in a state of great excitement.
"Ah," said the duke to Gabriel, "our ambassador to the victor need not set out without an interview with our ambassador to the vanquished. But how's this," he added, "what's the matter, De Thermes? You seem to be greatly distressed."
"So I am, indeed, Monseigneur," said Monsieur de Thermes.
"Why, what has happened?" asked Le Balafré. "Has Lord Wentworth—"
"Lord Wentworth, to whom, Monseigneur, in accordance with your commands, I announced his release and returned his sword, accepted the act of grace coldly and without a word. I was just leaving him in amazement at such discourteous behavior, when I heard a loud cry, which made me hasten back. The first use he had made of his freedom was to run himself through the body with the sword he had just received at my hands. He had killed himself instantly, and I found only his dead body."
"Ah," cried the Duc de Guise, "it must have been the despair caused by his defeat which drove him to that extremity. Do you not think so, Gabriel? It is a real misfortune!"
"No, Monseigneur," replied Gabriel, with sorrowful gravity; "no, Lord Wentworth did not die because he had been beaten."
"How's that! what was the reason, then?" asked Le Balafré.
"I beg you to allow me to say nothing as to the real reason," replied Gabriel. "I would have kept the secret if Lord Wentworth had lived, and I must guard it even more carefully now he is no more. However," continued Gabriel, lowering his voice, "in view of this proud act of his, I may confide to you, Monseigneur, that in his place I would have done just as he has. Yes, Lord Wentworth did well; for even if he had had no cause to blush before me, still the conscience of a true gentleman is a sufficiently troublesome creditor to induce one to impose silence upon it at any cost; and when one has the honor to belong to the nobility of a noble country, there are irreparable faults the effects of which can only be avoided by falling-dead as he has done."
"I understand you, Gabriel," said the Duc de Guise. "It only remains for us to pay Lord Wentworth the last honors."
"He is worthy of them," returned Gabriel; "and while I deeply deplore this necessary end of his career, I am glad, nevertheless, that I can still think with esteem and regret, as Intake leave of him on earth, of the man whose guest I was in this city."
When he said farewell to the Duc de Guise a few moments later with renewed acknowledgments, Gabriel went at once to the governor's former residence, where Madame de Castro was still living.
He had not seen Diane since the evening before; but she had quickly learned, in common with all Calais, of Ambroise Paré's fortunate intervention and the safety of the Duc de Guise; so Gabriel found her calm and reassured.
Lovers are always superstitious, and the peace of mind of his well-beloved had a cheering effect upon him.
Diane was naturally still better pleased when Gabriel told her what had taken place between the Duc de Guise and himself, and showed her the letter and the box which had been intrusted to him because of his unremitting labor and his defiance of so many dangers.
But even amid so many causes for gratulation she felt the regret of a Christian at Lord Wentworth's sad end; for though he had, to be sure, abused and insulted her for an hour or two, he had protected and treated her with all due respect for three months.
"May God pardon him as I do!" she said.
Gabriel went on to speak of Martin-Guerre and the Peuquoys, and of the escort which Monsieur de Guise had promised her, Diane, and referred to all her surroundings.
Indeed, he would have been only too glad to find a thousand other subjects of conversation to afford him an excuse for remaining; and yet the engrossing idea which called him to Paris still absorbed his thoughts to a great degree. He longed both to go and to stay; he was at once happy and anxious.
At last, as the hours passed by, Gabriel was obliged to say that he could only postpone his departure for a few moments longer.
"Are you going, Gabrieli Well, it is much better that you should for many reasons," said Diane. "I have not had the courage to speak to you of your departure; and yet by not deferring it you will give me the greatest proof of your affection that it would be possible for me to receive. Yes, my friend, go, so that I may have a shorter time to wait and suffer. Go, so that our fate may be decided as speedily as possible."
"May God bless you for your brave words, which go so far to sustain my courage!" said Gabriel.
"At this very moment," said Diane, "I feel while I am listening to you, as I know you must while speaking to me, an indefinable anxiety. We have been talking of a hundred things, and yet we have not dared to touch upon the matter which really lies nearest to our hearts and our lives. But since you are going in a very few moments, we may now revert without fear to the only subject in which we are really interested."
"Ah, you read my own heart and yours at a single glance!" said Gabriel.
"Listen a moment," said Diane. "Besides the letter you are to deliver to the king from the Duc de Guise, you will give his Majesty this other one from me which I wrote last night. In it I have told him how you saved me and set me free. Thus it will be made clear to him and to all others that you have restored his city to the king, and his daughter to the father. I speak thus; for I fervently trust that Henri II.'s affection for me is not deceptive, and that I have a right to call him my father."
"Dear Diane, God grant that you augur truly!" cried Gabriel.
"I envy you, Gabriel," continued Diane, "because you will lift the veil, and learn our destiny before I shall. However, I shall soon follow you, dear. Since Monsieur de Guise is so kindly disposed towards me, I will ask for an escort to-morrow; and although I shall be forced to travel more leisurely than you, I shall be at Paris a very few days after you."
"Oh, yes, do come soon!" said Gabriel, "for it seems to me as if your presence would bring me good fortune."
"In any event," Diane replied, "I do not want to be entirely separated from you; but I desire that there should be some one to remind you of me from time to time. Since you will be obliged to leave your faithful squire, Martin-Guerre, here, take with you the French page whom Lord Wentworth gave me. André is only a child, scarcely sixteen, and perhaps still younger in disposition than in years; but he is devoted and loyal, and will do you good service. Accept him from me. Amidst the less congenial companions of your suite, he will be a pleasanter and more agreeable attendant for you, and I shall be glad to know that he is always at your side."
"Oh, thanks for such thoughtful consideration," said Gabriel; "but you know that I must depart in a very few moments—"
"André knows my purpose," said Diane. "Oh, if you knew how proud he is to be in your service. He must be all ready now, and I have only a few last instructions to give him. If you go now and take your leave of the good Peuquoys, André will be with you before you quit Calais."
"I will take him with very great pleasure," said Gabriel; "I shall at least have some one with whom I can sometimes converse about you."
"I thought of that," said Madame de Castro, with a slight blush. "But now, adieu," she said earnestly; "we must say adieu."
"Oh, not 'adieu,'" replied Gabriel; "not that sad word which means a long separation; not 'adieu,' but au revoir!"
"Alas!" said Diane, "when and under what circumstances shall we meet again! If the riddle of our destiny be solved contrary to our wishes, will it not be better that we should never see each other more?"
"Oh, don't say so, Diane!" cried Gabriel; "don't say so! Besides, who but myself can inform you of the result, whether it be disastrous or happy?"
"Ah, Dieu!" Diane replied with a shudder, "it seems to me as if, whether it were happy or disastrous, I should die of joy or grief simply upon hearing your lips speak the words."
"But how shall I let you know?" asked Gabriel.
"Wait one moment," replied Diane.
She drew a gold ring from her huger, and took from a chest the nun's veil which she had worn at the Benedictine convent at St. Quentin.
"Listen, Gabriel," said she, in a tone of deep solemnity as she gave them to him; "as it is probable that everything will be settled before I reach Paris, send André to meet me. If God declares himself for us, he will bring back this wedding-ring to the Vicomtesse de Montgommery; but if our hopes are blighted, let him bring this nun's veil to Sister Bénie."
"Oh, let me fall at your feet and adore you as one of the angels from heaven!" cried the young man, touched to the very soul by this affecting proof of her great love.
"No, Gabriel, no, rise from your knees," Diane replied; "let us be steadfast and dignified in God's sight. Press upon my lips a pure brotherly kiss, as I will a sisterly one upon yours, thereby endowing you with faith and strength, so far as my power can go."
In silence they exchanged a sacred, sorrowful kiss.
"And now, my dear," continued Diane, "let us part, for it is time; not saying adieu, since you dread the word, but au revoir, to meet again in this world or the next!"
"Au revoir, au revoir!" murmured Gabriel.
He clasped Diane to his breast in a close embrace, and fastened a long, yearning gaze upon her, as if to draw from her lovely eyes the strength of which he was so much in need.
At last, upon a sorrowful but expressive motion which she made to him, he released her; and placing the ring on his finger and the veil in his bosom, he said once more in a stifled voice,—
"Au revoir, Diane!"
"Gabriel, au revoir!" Diane replied, with a hopeful gesture.
Gabriel fled as if he were a madman.
Half an hour later, with renewed tranquillity, he left behind him the fair city of Calais, which it had been his good fortune to restore to the kingdom of France.
He was on horseback, accompanied by the young page André, who had overtaken him, and by four of his volunteers.
One of these last was Ambrosio, who was very glad to find an opportunity of taking back to Paris with him certain English small wares, which he expected to dispose of to advantage to the habitués of the court.
Another was Pilletrousse, who, in a conquered city, where he was one of the masters and victors, was afraid that he might yield to temptation and recur to his former habits.
Yvonnet was also among them: he had not been able to find in provincial Calais a single tailor worthy his patronage; and his costume had been too seriously injured by the hard usage it had experienced to be presentable,—it could not be replaced suitably except at Paris.
Lactance was the last of the four; he had asked leave to accompany his master so that he might receive his confessor's assurance that his exploits had not exceeded his penances, and that his assets in the shape of self-inflicted austerities would suffice to meet the liabilities he had incurred by his feats of arms.
Pierre and Jean Peuquoy, with Babette, accompanied the five horsemen on foot as far as what was called the Paris gate.
There they were compelled to part. Gabriel said a last farewell to his kind friends, and gave them a warm clasp of his hand; while they, with tears in their eyes, wished him all happiness and showered benedictions upon him.
But the Peuquoys soon lost sight of the little band, who set off at a trot, and disappeared at a turn in the road. The good burghers returned with sad hearts to Martin-Guerre.
Gabriel felt grave and preoccupied, but not sorrowful.
He was hopeful!
Once before Gabriel had left Calais to seek at Paris the solution of the mystery surrounding his destiny. But on that occasion circumstances wore a much less favorable appearance. He was concerned about Martin-Guerre, Babette, and the Peuquoys, and anxious, about Diane, whom he had left behind, a prisoner in the hands of Lord Wentworth, who was in love with her. Then, too, his vague presentiments of the future were but slightly tinged with hope; for he had, after all, done nothing more than prolong the resistance of a town, which was in the end obliged to surrender. Surely, that was hardly an achievement great enough to deserve so great a reward.
But to-day he left behind him no cause for gloomy thoughts. The two wounded men, both so dear to him, his general and his squire, were both saved, and Ambroise Paré guaranteed their recovery; Babette Peuquoy was to marry a man whom she loved, and by whom she was beloved, her honor as well as her future happiness being assured; Madame de Castro was free, and treated like a queen in a French city, and no later than the next day would follow him to Paris.
Last of all, our hero had struggled so long with Fortune that he might well hope that he had at last tired her out; the undertaking which he had carried through triumphantly to its close—conceiving the idea of taking Calais, as well as furnishing the means to accomplish it—was not one of those the value of which admits of discussion or haggling. The key of France restored to the possession of the King of France! Such an exploit most certainly justified the most lofty ambition; and the Vicomte d'Exmès's ambition was no more than a just and holy one.
He was hopeful. The persuasive encouragement and soothing promises of Diane were still ringing in his ears with the last good wishes of the Peuquoys. Gabriel saw about him André—whose presence reminded him of his beloved—and the gallant and devoted soldiers of his escort; before his eyes, firmly attached to the pommel of his saddle, he saw the box which contained the keys of Calais; in his doublet he could feel the precious copy of the capitulation and the still more precious letters of the Duc de Guise and Madame de Castro; Diane's gold ring shone upon his finger,—ever present and eloquent pledges of good fortune.
The very sky, beautifully blue and cloudless, seemed to speak of hope; the pure and bracing air made the blood run warm in his veins; the thousand sounds to be heard in the country in the twilight were eloquent of peace and tranquillity; and the sun, which was setting in a glory of purple and gold on Gabriel's left hand, was a most comforting sight to his eyes and his heart.
It was impossible to set out toward a coveted goal under happier auspices.
We shall see in due time what came of it.