University of Virginia Library

14. CHAPTER XIV.

King Henry IV.

I was yet gazing, with a strange complication of
feelings, upon the countenance of the dead man,
when a summons to attend the Prince de Condé
disturbed the tenor of my meditations. There is
always something terribly fascinating in the features
of the dead—something which rivets, even
while it disgusts, the eye. The utter absence of
thought, of action, of animation! the void! the nothingness!
the eternity!—I never looked upon a
corpse, even though it were the corpse of a stranger,
without being sensible of intense interest—

what then must I have felt in contemplating all
that remained of one who had left no means untried
to work my evil! In truth, I know not how
I felt. No man can be indifferent to the removal of
a deadly foe—and such assuredly had he been who
lay outstretched before me, as pale and rigid as
though his cheek had never flushed with the crimson
hue of fury; for how brave soever one may be
—how careless soever, at least to all external show,
of the enmities of men—it is nevertheless no pleasant
reflection to know that there exists anywhere,
within the limits of the universal world, a being
who, were his power equal to his malice, would
hunt him to destruction. There was then a something
of stern gratification in my heart, but there
was mingled with it a strain of disappointment,
almost of sorrow. I had, absurdly enough, calculated
on gaining some information concerning Isabel
from the lifeless clay at my feet; and now that
he was gone for ever—gone to his everlasting
home—a link was severed—a thread that had, at
least in the imagination, connected me to my lost
love, was broken. I could have wellnigh wished
that he might live, even though a renewal of his
life would have been but a renewal of his machinations
against my own happiness. I was fast falling
into gloom and despondency when the messenger
entered, and, by compelling me to act at once,
dispelled the melancholy train of thought which
had all but taken possession of my soul.

Casting a dark watch-cloak over my armour, and
replacing my heavy morion by a cap of martin's fur,
I walked forth quietly and unattended into the
moonlit village. I reached the prince's quarters
just as that indefatigable leader was dismounting
from the third horse he had wearied out that day.

“Ha! Monsieur de Mornington,” he exclaimed,
on seeing me—“on foot and unattended!—How
falls this so?—methought you were too keen a
horseman ever to walk three paces!”

“I am, so please your highness,” I returned;
“but in default of those four feet of the quadruped,
I am compelled to bear myself—less swiftly, but perhaps
not less surely—on mine own. Of my two
horses, one—the gift, too, of his majesty—was shot
beneath me in this morning's skirmish; while the
other has been so shrewdly tried of late, that I
must needs be chary of his strength, or I may want
him when to want were fatal!”

“What, was the white charger killed?—he bore
you nobly, and you backed him bravely!—But this
must not be, sir; we must not have an officer so
useful to us as yourself deprived of wherewithal to
serve. A poor prince's charger is but a profitless

exchange for a great monarch's gift; but if you will
receive him, as a slight tribute to your valour, black
Rocroi shall be yours—and Condé will feel honoured
by your acceptance! He will befit you too, for he
affects the front ranks in a charge! Lead Rocroi
straightway to the quarters of monsieur,” he
continued, turning to the groom who held his stirrup—“and
you, fair sir, enter with me—I would
have some words with you!”

Expressing my gratitude in a few strong phrases,
I followed him into the chamber in which we had
been assembled on the preceding evening. “You
have supped, Monsieur de Mornington?” he cried,
as he threw himself into a huge oaken settle by the
hearth—“you have supped, or no?—What, have
you eaten nothing since the morning? Tête Dieu!
but we will order this forthwith. I snatched a
mouthful as I left the field—and in truth but a
mouthful—for I was called away to attend a meeting
of the council at St. Germains. So ho! there,
gentlemen, without!--Bring here some food and
wine—quick! quick! and lights—why tarry you?”

In a few moments supper was served, and, in
truth, we did ample justice to the huge joint which
smoked before us in all the rude magnificence of
camp cookery. During our hearty meal the prince
conversed gayly and without reserve, but on

topics of small import, arising for the most part
out of the occurrences of the past day; but, when
the servants had withdrawn, he filled a large goblet
of wine, and, motioning me with his hand to follow
his example, spoke with strong emphasis,
though slowly, and without any manifestation of
much feeling.

“It was not for such idle talk as this, Monsieur
de Mornington,” he said, “that I have requested
your company. I wish to know, sir, if there be
aught in which I can advantage you—my influence
is at this moment high, both with my royal cousin
and the cardinal, and well I think that nothing I am
like to ask will be denied me. To you I owe a
most deep debt of gratitude—nor is it my wont to
let my gratitude grow mouldy by long keeping.
Speak out, I pray you, sir, and fully. Is your rank
equal to your wishes?—or is there aught else in
which a prince's word may serve you?”

My reply was of course a disclaimer of all merit
which could entitle me to reward, or more than
ordinary consideration; and, while expressing my
satisfaction at having been so fortunate as to gain
so valuable a reward as the approbation of De
Condé, I positively refused to advance any request,
or, indeed, to receive any remuneration for that
which was but the execution of my duty.

“This shall not serve your turn,” he exclaimed,
fervently—“'fore God, it shall not; nor do I hold it altogether
generous in you, Monsieur de Mornington,
to deny me that which would be doubtless far more
gratifying to me than to yourself. If you will not
that I hold you, for the hereafter, proud and thankless—promise,
sir, that whenever you stand in need
of aught that Louis de Bourbon can procure or execute
for you--promise me that you will apply to
me forthwith.”

“Most gratefully do I undertake the obligation:
and believe me, prince, if I be proud, it is that any
deed of mine should be deemed worth the gain
of—”

“My friendship!—Sir, you have it! Would
you were not too cold to prove it on the instant!”

“To show your highness,” I replied, “that I
am neither cold, nor proud, nor thankless, I will
tax your grace's friendship even now”—and without
further delay I plunged into the narrative of all
that had befallen me—all that had raised me for an
instant to the summit of felicity, and plunged me
thence to the abyss of misery. I did not conceal
a thought, a word, an action—my hopes, my fears,
my doubts, my agonies, were all laid before him,—
“and now,” I concluded—“now that I have bared

my very heart to your highness's inspection, may
I hope for your advice—for your assistance?”

He had listened with deep attention throughout,
the varying expressions passing over his noble
features like the shadows of autumnal clouds flitting
across some sunny landscape: two or three
times in the course of my narration he set his
teeth, clutched the hilt of his sword, and muttered
the word “villains” with fierce energy; but as I
finished my tale of sorrow, he started to his feet,
paced the floor rapidly, taking short turns, and
stamping so heavily that the decaying timbers
creaked beneath his stride.

“Wild work!” he said, at length—“wild work!
and most atrocious villany! Fear not, however,
sir—or rather doubt not—for fear, if I mistake not,
is no inmate of your bosom—doubt not but I will
see you righted. It is nevertheless a delicate, and
perchance a dangerous experiment. Mazarin is
ever, though he may employ them, jealous of foreigners,
and thrifty of the states' possessions.
This demoiselle, on her own showing, is a ward of
government if free; and you have erred in wedding
her—erred in the strict eyes of the law, I
mean--not so in honour or humanity. One thing
is clear—nothing can be done till she be rescued
from these dogs: that you must effect yourself,

and in that will I aid you to the uttermost. It is
well that this De Chateaufort is with the Frondeurs,
for so will he gain naught but bitterness and wrath
from Mazarin. Him you must not lose sight of
De Meilleraye said something of a lady too!—
Tête Dieu! it well may be that she is even now in
Paris! It is indeed a tangled knot this to unravel;
but if we may not find the clew, we can at the
worst but sever it with the sword!—Hold! hold!
I have it! A herald will be sent to-morrow with
letters to the generals,—to the Parliament, the
provosts, and the echevins of Paris. You shall go
with him—I will see to it forthwith. You must
learn where they have concealed her, for without
that we can do nothing; that once discovered, trust
me to bring about the rest. Be silent, only, and be
prudent in counsel, as you are bold and ready in
execution, and you must succeed!—Good-night,
sir--speak not of this to any man, nor seem to
know that you have aught of duty for to-morrow
—I will see to it, and you shall so receive your orders,
that no man shall question their propriety.”

With a spirit somewhat lightened, though by no
means free from anxiety or care, I left the prince's
quarters, and hurried, with quick steps and a throbbing
heart, to my own apartments. It was evident
that I might fully count upon his good offices, whenever

they could be brought to bear; but it was no
less evident that I must depend principally on my
own sagacity and my own exertions. This was,
however, all that I had ever looked for, and in gaining
this I had gained every thing! I plainly fore-saw,
that if I could by any means discover the
place of Isabel's confinement, the prince would
contrive some method for placing me in a situation
that would enable me to effect her release; and
further, that if I should recover her from her open
enemies, he would make the remainder of our
course easy and direct. A weight, which had hung
like a millstone about my heartstrings, was lifted
up, as it were, by this discovery. Used as I had
been from my childhood upward to every species
of stratagem—ready and expert in ferreting out
and profiting by every kind of information, I entertained
little doubt of being able ere long to learn
as much as would suffice for all my objects—as
would be a pretext for the use of open force in her
rescue! If I should fail in all else, I was determined
to obtain possession of the person of De
Chateaufort, and either to tear the secret from his
heart, or to keep him as a hostage, in close confinement,
till the old duke, his father, should be willing
to buy his release by the unconditional surrender of
my bride!

Full of these wild fantasies, or such as these,
I threw myself upon the couch; but, contrary to
my wont, I lay for many hours disturbed and
sleepless. It was to no purpose that I tried every
change of posture, that I used every expedient I
had ever known or heard of, to compose my mind
and “steep my senses in forgetfulness.” Hour
after hour the chimes of a distant bell smote on
my ear; hour after hour the challenges of the sentinels,
and the heavy trampling of the patrols going
their rounds, found me awake and listening to the
varied cadences. The gray light of early morning
was already stealing through my uncurtained
lattice, when I sunk into a deep but perturbed
slumber; from which, however, I was almost instantly,
as it appeared to me, aroused by the voice
of Lydford.

“Up! up, sir!—up! it is high noon,” he cried;
“there waits a herald with his company beneath
the windows, eager to set forth to Paris. A troop
of your own regiment has been ordered out by the
commander, and Bayard is even now saddling for
your service.”

It occupied but a brief space to array myself—but
this time in garb of peace. Without rapier and dagger
no gentleman goes forth, nor were my holsters
ungarnished by their accustomed pistols; but, excepting

these, I descended the staircase as if preparing
but for a morning's ride. Lydford, according
to previous orders, did on his liveries of forest
green; and, with the small round target on his
shoulder, which affixed on English serving-men
the term of swash-bucklers—an appellation which
has already shared the fate of all things sublunary,
and been forgotten—the national broadsword
on his hip, a badge on his right arm,
and a cap of black velvet upon his time-blanched
locks, followed to guard his master, whether from
secret assassination or from open violence. When
I reached the door, I found the herald—to escort
whose person I had, ostensibly at least, been ordered
out—in his gay coat-of-arms and quartered
tabard, awaiting, somewhat impatiently, my appearance.
Behind him sat two pursuivants, in
doublets of rich purple taffeta, thickly adorned
with fleurs-de-lis of solid gold; each with a trumpet
of the same precious metal in his hand, to which
had been appended banners of spotless white, free
from blazonry or fringe of any kind whatever;
and at a little distance from these, a gallant troop
of horse, fully equipped as if for action, were
drawn up—motionless as statues on their managed
chargers; the cornet at their head bearing a plain
white flag of truce, and their captain, like myself,
unarmed.

Waving my hand to the king-at-arms, with a
few brief words of apology, I vaulted into my
saddle, and we rode at a brisk pace towards the
metropolis. It is a lovely ride up the rich valley
of the Seine from St. Germains through Ruel
to Paris; and as we rode along, for the most part
at a light hand-gallop, we were not long in getting
over the twelve miles of distance which, strange
as it may seem, were all that separated the head-quarters
of the court from those of the parliament.
We met with no interruption, although at one moment
I almost anticipated that our sacred and
heraldic character would scarcely prove efficient
as a protection. For when we had arrived within
two leagues perhaps of the barriers, a large detachment
of cavalry came wheeling down the
road; and it did not require a second glance to
discover, in the partisan officer who led them, my
mortal foe De Chateaufort. I fully expected, as
our two parties met, to hear him give the word to
charge; and even passed the word along my
scanty lines that the men should look to their petronels,
ere I rode forward to address the commander
in my official quality; which I did with a

degree of reluctance that must almost have been
obvious to my old antagonist.

I spoke, however, shortly, and with an air of
cool hauteur, which was intended—and which, I
doubt not, was so taken—to express that my courtesies
were directed, not to the man, but to the
officer.

He smiled somewhat sneeringly as I spoke,
but answered civilly enough, and furnished me
with the necessary passwords; apologizing for his
inability to attend me through the outposts in consequence
of his duties elsewhere. His official
reply concluded, he pointed with his left hand to
the white ensign which was streaming above our
heads, and, with a glare of hatred lighting up all
his features, tapped the hilt of his sword. “The
time will come!” he said; “fear nothing; but it
will!”

“Would God it were arrived even now!” I answered.
“But, as you say, the time shall come,
and that right speedily, when my peculiar character
shall be no protection to your villany!”

I doffed my plumed bonnet, and rode coolly forward—the
files of the enemy opening, as we advanced,
to give us passage; and I could hear the
muttered comments of the soldiers as they recognised

us for the men who had cut them up so
fatally on the preceding day.

Scarcely had they passed over the brow of the
hill behind us, ere I called old Martin to my
stirrup. “Ride back,” I whispered, “to the coppice
on the summit of yon eminence—I marked
it as we rode by—it commands a wide prospect
over the neighbouring country—conceal your
horse among the underwood, and watch the motions
of yonder cavalry as you would watch a
wild-cat on the spring. Tarry there till we return,
and take good heed you be not taken.”

The old man nodded assent, and galloped back
on the instant; but hardly was he out of sight,
before we came upon another party of horsemen!
They were a dozen servants, in the blue and tawny
liveries of my enemy, well-armed, and leading
with them several baggage-horses equipped as for
a journey. It was not without some apprehension
that I saw them following the route of the cavalry;
for I could scarcely hope that Lydford would have
gained the covert, before their arrival on the spot.

Nothing, however, could be done; the event
was in the hands of Him to whom alone the past
and the future are as one. We continued to ride
sharply forward, and, in less than an hour, stood
before the gates of Paris. Our trumpets flourished

loud and shrill, but in the well-known cadences
of a friendly summons: the sentinel on guard
received our message, and proceeded to make
his report to the officer of the watch; but the
gates were not unbarred! We were detained
thus at least three hours; during the whole of
which we could hear the sounds of a loud and tumultuous
concourse in the streets, thronging, as it
would seem, towards the Hotel de Ville, wherein
the leaders of the Frondeurs held their sittings.
At the end of the time I have above mentioned, it
was signified to us briefly that we could not be received—“as
heralds were but the means of communication
between belligerents, and as our admission
would be tantamount to a confession that
the Parliament were at war with the king!”

“Saint diable!” muttered the cornet at my
elbow—“had yon grumbler been in the fire of the
lines at Charenton, he would not deem such an acknowledgment
a matter of much import!”

“You are right, sir,” I replied; “but I can read
his eminence the coadjutor's handiwork in that
reply: believe me, somewhat more is meant than
these same words betoken!—But our duty is at an
end, monseigneur, is it not?” I continued, turning
to the herald; and receiving his assent, gave orders
to my men to march—being further informed by

the guards upon the half-moon which had been recently
erected in front of the gates, that if we
should be found within the lines after another hour,
we should be dealt upon as spies, according to the
laws of war.

I feared that, as far as my own projects were
concerned, my mission would this time result
in nothing; but I clearly saw that the refusal to
admit the herald was a mere manœuvre of the
wily De Retz, who, scandalously in defiance of his
sacred character, was at this period the sole fomenter
of a war with which all other parties had
been long ago disgusted. Nothing, however, remained
but to hurry homeward as fast as possible,
leaving all future negotiations to the will of our
superiors.

When we had ridden some three miles towards
St. Germains, we again met the same regiment
of cavalry; but, to my surprise, De Chateaufort
and a single troop of regulars, besides the party
of servants with baggage-horses, whom I had noticed
in the rear, were absent. This time we
passed each other in silence, and, as it seemed to
me, with some of that good feeling which ever
arises between enemies from the knowledge of each
other's strength and valour.

As soon as we were clear of their rear I gave
the word to increase the speed of our motion, and
we advanced at the gallop till we had attained and
risen over the brow of the hill which I had indicated
to old Lydford. Barely had we shown
ourselves above the ridge ere he crept out of the
brushwood, leading his horse by the bridle-rein. I
dropped into the rear, to converse with him freely,
giving orders to my subaltern to advance steadily,
with a promise that I would overtake him ere he
should have gone a mile.

“Now, Lydford,” I cried, “'twas he! Didst
mark him?—Didst hear aught of their words—or
mark which route they took?”

“I did, I did—but hist! till yonder loiterers have
passed! This have I learned from the whispers of
those scoundrel servants in the rear, when they
thoughtnone heard their villain conversation:—The
dwelling of De Chateaufort lies somewhere east of
Bar le Duc, upon the river Blaise; they set forth
thence some two weeks since, and brought a lady
in their train.”

“Ha! By St. George, but this is news well
worth the gaining! Didst gather from their words
if she be yet in Paris?”

“They brought her not to Paris,” he replied;
“they sent her, ere they reached the barriers, to

some place in or nigh the Spanish Netherlands,
I reckon, by their words—but where I learned not,
for they spoke low, and I am far from perfect, as
you know, in their accursed gibberish!”

“Good! good!” I cried, clapping my hands in
ecstasy; “you have preserved me once again, old
man; you are my better angel! But whither,” I
continued—“whither rode De Chateaufort? We
met the soldiers, as it seemed, returning, and he is
not among them!”

“They hold themselves, I doubt not, proper
men, and marvellous crafty,” was the old forester's
reply; “but they must have more wiles than
e'er a fox in the West Riding, an they can cheat old
Martin! See you that tall ash-tree in the centre
of the coppice?—from its summit I saw their motions
as clearly as I see the features of your face!
The march of the cavalry was but a blind. I
watched them as they filed along that sandy lane,
by the white cottage yonder, and by the vineyards.
All the rustics whom they met they carried forward
with them, till they were all concealed in that dark
mass of woodland. There I lost them; but ere an
hour had flown, I saw a party with led horses cross
an avenue or alley in the forest, riding in the direction
of Epinay. Once having caught the clew, I
kept casting my eye forward to whatever breaks I

might discover in the woodlands, and I saw the
same party cross four different carrèfours, and at
last emerge into the open country—there, far away
to the north-west, they forded a large stream in
a valley lying beyond that ridge of hillocks, still
marching steadily in one direction. Scarcely had
I lost sight of them, before I heard the sound of
trumpets, and beheld the rest of the cavalry come
out of their hiding-place; which they had kept, I
doubt not, till such time as would give their comrades
a fair start. You might have noticed, sir,
that they rode in looser order, and by subdivisions
of troops, the number of intervals in their line of
march being the same as when we met them first—
past question, to conceal the alteration of their numbers;
the officer, too, who led them, had exchanged
casque and scarf with that De Chateaufort.”

“By heavens, he had!” I shouted, as the recollection
flashed like a ray of inspiration on my
mind; “but we will mar their plottings! Hark!
—you know already how great is my stake in this
matter!—It is a mighty risk that I would ask of
you; and certain death if you should be discovered!
Nevertheless, your stratagems are
such, your wiliness so great, I should not fear
for you in even greater perils! Speak—will you
aid me in this matter?”

“Will I—will I aid you?—obey—you should
have said—obey you to the very death!”

“Loosen your badge, then, from your arm, and
throw the buckler far into that thick underwood.
Here, take my pistols; they are better, far better
than your own. Is that my petronel that hangs
across your shoulders? Right, right! I am glad
of it! And now change horses with me. This is
the gift of Condé; but he will pardon me the use
I make of it. You must be mounted well, or my
scheme goes for naught! Take my purse, too:
would it were better furnished. And now attend
my words with all your senses! De Chateaufort
hath set out, beyond all question, upon some secret
mission—secret and dangerous! Secret—
for it is evident that he hath wasted much time
and pains in order to conceal its mere direction!
Dangerous—for we know the man! You must
pursue him. Hang upon his traces as our own
north country blood-hounds cling to the scent left
by the wounded deer! You must discover the
point for which he journeys; and, if it be possible,
the very place wherein that lady of whom you
heard them speak is now confined! My own
conviction is, that he journeys on a mission to Turenne;
and that my wife—remember that, my
wife, old man—is captive in some fortress or some

convent nigh to the frontiers of the Pays Bas!
But tarry not for over-close information. The
moment you have learned his destination, return
to me, with all the diligence of man and horse, here
to St. Germains; and, above all things, be secret,
and be careful of your proper safety! Heaven
knows, if thou wert sped I might long lack a friend
like thee! Farewell! farewell!”

I turned hastily from him to conceal the emotion
which I could not repress, on parting thus
from one who had followed me with the fidelity of
a dog, who had loved me with a love surpassing
that of woman! Ere I had ridden ten paces
he called after me. “Tarry a moment, Master
Harry,” he said; “over-haste at starting brings
but a blown horse to the winning-post. He that
would ride far and fast must ever ride warily!
These fellows I must follow by the slot,[1] I trow, as
I was wont to hunt the Scottish thieves upon our

northern borders in my boyhood; and I must be
certain of their track at starting!” I looked back,
before I turned my horse's head, and observed the
old forester poring intently over the hoof-marks
left on the soft surface, wherever the frost had
yielded to the mildness of the air. “Here are
many tracks, easy enough to follow, and right good
to know again, an I could but tell which were
his! Here, now, is one—it must have been made
by the horse of an officer, for it is the print of a
thoroughbred, and it is somewhat away from the
line of march.”

“Hath it a bar-shoe?” I cried, well remembering
the Andalusian jennet which my foeman had
invariably ridden, or employed in mounting others
for desperate service; and which, though not perfectly
certain of the fact, I fancied he had bestridden
in the morning when we met—“hath it
a bar-shoe before?”

“On the near foot!” was the prompt reply.
“'Tis a sweet track to follow: I would it might
be his. I hunted out a duller mark than this, ere I
was sixteen, from Hexham upon Tyne far into
Eskdale—and brought back the booty!”

“Be easy, then, old man! That is the track
of Chateaufort himself! I have good cause to
know it!”

“Then, before three days have passed, you shall
know more of it!” he cried, cheerily, as he sprang
upon the horse he had heretofore held by the rein
—“ere three days are past you shall know all of
it; or call me no true man, but an old knave and
braggart!”

He waved his hand, and, spurring his horse
smartly, galloped forward on the route taken by
the cavalry three hours before; and, before I had
rejoined my company, was concealed from my
observation by the dense woodlands.

On reaching head-quarters, I found that although
my embassy had produced little advantage to myself,
the court were not wholly dissatisfied with its
result as concerned themselves. Their object was
to bring on a negotiation; and this, they doubted
not, would be accomplished: nor were they, indeed,
far wrong; for on the ensuing morning an
embassy arrived from the parliament, composed
of the leading lawyers of the day—men of learning,
equalled only by their perfect integrity and
fervent patriotism. Among these were the President
de Mêsme, De Nesmond, and Coignieux, with
the Advocate-general Talon—than whom, I well
believe, no truer men or better counsellors ever
conducted the policy of a great nation.

These men had embarked, heart and soul, in the

rebellion of the Fronde, with the sole view of curbing
the inordinate power of the monarch, of repressing
the insolence of a hated minister, and
of establishing constitutional liberty on the most
righteous and permanent foundation! They had
learned, however, during the contest, that their
partisans, their generals, and, above all, the principal
mover of the whole sedition, the Archbishop
coadjutor of Paris, cared not a dénier for the liberty
of the people, for the common weal, or, in short,
for any of the principles which they affected to
avow; but that, having merely handled these as
weapons to cut out their own paths of personal
ambition, they were on the point of embroiling
the country in a war with Spain, and of entailing
on it the immediate horrors of a foreign conquest,
and, perhaps, the lasting misery of a foreign
sway, rather than submit to the destruction of their
own schemes for individual advancement.

The negotiations which followed, and which
lasted for several days in succession, were conducted
solely by Condé and the Duke of Orleans,
—the deputies refusing to treat, personally, with
Mazarin; against whom they, as leaders of the parliament,
had not long before issued an arrêt. These
princes, being well aware of the miserable state
of the metropolis—perceiving that the grand rebellion

was already splitting itself into factions,
and thence arguing that it was about to be dissolved
at once, insisted upon hard conditions. Too
hard, the deputies insisted, to be endured! They
were one day dismissed; and were already mounting
their horses to depart, when I heard Orléans
whisper to the prince—they had walked out together
to do honour to the deputies,—

“My good cousin, if these folks protract the
business to the spring time, they will unite with the
archduke; and then, believe me, it will be our
turn to humble ourselves! Let not pass this
present occasion, or, trust me, you will rue it.
Let us have peace at once. All good men, of
all parties, must desire it!”

The deputies were recalled; articles prepared;
and they at length set forth for Paris, confidently
promising to return on the succeeding morning to
sign them, and to conclude a permanent peace.

On that same evening, as I was returning to my
quarters, somewhat downcast in spirit, and judging,
by the length of time elapsed, that some
evil had befallen Martin Lydford, I found the
sentry, who had been just relieved, with a man who
had ridden up to the lines inquiring for me;
and whom, being ignorant of the pass-word, they
had sent in with a guard.

It was not, indeed, easy to recognise the person
of my old gray-headed vassal in the figure who
stood before me; but it was, nevertheless, he! He
had cut short his long gray locks, and tinged them,
as well as his eyebrows and mustache, with some
dark mixture which he had procured at the first
town he had passed on his route. He had got rid
of his trim livery of forest-green and his velvet
bonnet, wearing a coarse leathern doublet and
slouched Flemish hat; nay, he had contrived to
disfigure the very horse he rode, by platting his
long mane, tying up his tail into a short thick club,
and actually colouring him with patches of some
white trash or other, which, unless on an unusually
close inspection, gave him the appearance of a
piebald!

Procuring his release on the instant, I led him
to my chamber; and found that, if not wholly successful,
he had, nevertheless, performed his duty
with his wonted activity and circumspection.

He had dogged De Chateaufort and his party
for two days, at a prudent distance; and found, as
I had anticipated, that they continued to journey
in a north-easterly direction, and nearly in the direction
of Turenne's head-quarters. Tired, however,
of this slow progress, he had disguised himself
and his horse, and had actually mingled with

the inferiors of the party, as they sat at their evening
potations around the fire of a village hostelry.
Here he had learned that their destination was, indeed,
the camp of Turenne; and that from thence
they were to proceed to Valenciennes; but wherefore,
he had not been able to ascertain. On the
following morning, he had attempted to join
their line of march; but, having by some means
excited their suspicions, they had attempted to
detain him, whereupon he had taken to the
woods; and, in the running fight which followed,
shot down three of his pursuers; and, finally, made
good his escape! This was the amount of his intelligence;
but this was something. Furthermore,
he positively asserted, that, though they had become
distrustful of him, it evidently was as of a
spy to some of the freebooting bands which were
ever on the rove about the frontiers, and not as of
an emissary from the camp!

Immediately, on receiving this intelligence, I
hurried to the presence of Condé, and informed
him of all that had occurred; adding my own
surmises, that Chateaufort had been sent with
orders to persuade Turenne to march on Paris
without delay; and that his intended progress to
Valenciennes must, of necessity, relate to Isabel!

“Ha!” he cried, as I concluded my narration;

“must I ever be in your debt, Monsieur de Mornington?
but never heed it! the time will come when
I may well repay them. I will not conceal it from
you that these news are of vast import. We have
to-night advices that the generals have withdrawn
with some ten thousand men from Paris, and have
taken a most strong position over against Charenton,
on the point between the Seine and Marne—
a position from which, Heaven knows, we have not
men enough to drive them—with a declared intention
of maintaining themselves there until the archduke
and Turenne—upon whose movements, though
as yet unavowed, they seem to reckon—shall join
them with succour. Chateaufort has doubtless
gone, as you conjecture, to hurry him even now;
and if this junction be effected, not the royal
cause only, but France herself is lost; and this,
too, through the base ambition of a priest!—a
minister of peace! Out! out upon him! I must
straight to Mazarin! To-morrow, sir, you shall
hear more from me; and it shall go hard with
Louis de Bourbon, if, out of this, he work not
something that shall profit Henri de Mornington!”