University of Virginia Library

[FROM “THE FLAG OF OUR UNION.”]
THE CHEVALIER TREMLET.

BY CHARLES E. WAITE.

1. CHAPTER I.
THE FETE.

Brilliantly glittered the magnificent halls
of the Louvre, as high festival was held therein,
by the effeminate Henry III. of France, and his
voluptuous court. The long suite of gilded saloons,
festooned with flowers and adorned with
arabesques and golden fleur-de-lys, was redolent
with perfumes exhaled from a thousand aromatic
lamps and sweets breathed forth from fragrant
exotics, that would have vied with the odors of
the luxurious gardens of the Alhambra. Music
from invisible minstrels floated through the halls
—tall plumes waved to the cadences of the melody—little
elastic feet twinkled in the complicated
movements of the figure, as the liveliest and
most noble damsels of the land whirled in the
giddy bransle, or in the more graceful Spanish
pavanne, or in the majestic and dignified Italian
pazzameno. All the grace, wit, beauty and distinction
of a court that vied in the loveliness of
its dances, and the gallantry of its cavaliers with
that of the voluptuous Charles II. were assembled.

The fete was a masked one. The costumes
were of endless variety, suited to the taste of
the wearer and adapted to display the person to
the best advantage. Bright eyes peeped from
the little loop-holes of the favorite touret de nez,
a sort of mask, at that time in high vogue at
the French court. It gave additional piquancy
to the smoothly polished chin, and ripe, bewitching
lips of the wearer, and many were the
amours to which these little velvet vizards lent
mystery and interest.

Throughout the gorgeous rooms the noble
company dispersed, some listening to the exqulsite
melody of the royal musicians, others watching
with the interest of the gamesters themselves,
the tables where immense sums were staked at
tric-trac or primerd—while others reclined on
luxurious silken couches within the deep embrasures
of tapestried windows, listening to the impassioned
words of plumed gallants, and uttering
soft and faint responses. Innumerable lackeys,
and pages in sumptuous liveries, emblazoned
with the escutcheons of their lords, were in

attendance, and flitted about on tender errands.

In the grand saloon stood Henri Trois himself,
supported on the arm of his chief valet. He
was of slight figure, and his countenance wore
an habitual sneer. His features were not regular,
but his complexion was exceedingly fair,
and would have vied in delicacy and freshness
with that of many of the voluptuous demoiselles
who graced his princely court. Particularly did
he pride himself upon his hand, which was
small and beautiful, a grace of person which
was enjoyed in common by nearly all the Medicis
family. Around him were arrayed the chivalry
and gallantry of the capital. All his retinue
were unmasked but one cavalier, who wore a
dark vizard covering his entire face, and who
appeared studiously to keep in the background.
He was attired in a pourpoint exquisitely worked
and slashed with velvet, and over his shoulders
was carelessly cast a crimson mantle, edged
with silver lace and adorned with orders. Mingling
with the king's suite was Catharine de Medicis,
his mother, accompanied by a fair young
dame, whose features Praxitiles would have
sighed for as a model for his Venus. Her eyes
were of dark blue, swimming with chastened
tenderness. Above her mouth there was a charming
expression, partly scornful and partly voluptuous,—both
blended so harmoniously as to
give that feature peculiar piquancy and loveliness.
Her rich auburn hair was raised from her
smooth and polished brow, and gathered in
plaits at the top of her head. The alabaster
throat was encircled with a muslin collar edged
with pointed lace, and her form was closely fitted
by a boddice of Florence velvet, which rather
revealed than hid the splendid contour of the
waist and bosom. Such was Louise de L'Estoile,
the handsomest, most virtuous, and highly
accomplished of the petite bande des dames de la
cour, which attended the haughty Catharine de
Medicis, as maids of honor.

Henri was evidently paying his devoirs to the
splendid Louise, and judging from the lady's
manner his attentions, if not unpleasant, were, to
say the least, a matter of indifference to her.
Her beautiful face was bent in a fixed and earnest
gaze upon a pair of dancers who were bounding
down the grand hall in a graceful Navarroise
waltz. An expression of intense pain crossed
her features as the waltzers approached nearer,
and she observed the look of passionate tenderness
which the lady, careless of observation, bestowed
upon her partner.

“How glorious Marguerite dances to-night,”
observed the king.

“Venus must have smiled upon her partner's
nativity,” said the courtier of the mask and
slashed pourpoints, stepping forward; “observe,
sire, how he is basking in the sunshine of the
queen of Navarre's favors.”

Louise de L'Estoile grew deadly pale and
averted her face. Marguerite de Valois, Queen
of Navarre—for she was the fair dancer—as the
waltz was concluded, was led panting by her
partner to a lounge, amid the thundering vivats
and bravas of the illustrious host.

It was at a period when the charms of the
beautiful queen were at their height, and she
never looked more lovely than when as at present
engaged in her favorite amusement. Her
eyes were dark and lustrous, and their moist,
full orbs could beam with the most voluptuous
tenderness, or flash fire and indignant fury, as
her passionate soul was moved by love, or roused
by resentment. Her features were faultlessly
regular, and while they were majestic, there
was yet a softness and grace about them which
made their expression irresistibly fascinating.
Her skin was dazzlingly fair, and her hair, which
when loose fell in magnificent raven tresses almost
to her feet, was now secured by ribands to
the back of her head, and adorned profusely with
pearls and brilliants. Her form was round and
faultless—the glowing bust swelling from a
throat and neck as white as alabaster, and the
waist small and slender—worthy of being spanned
by the cestus of Venus. Her hands were small
and white, and the little foot which peeped from
her splendid robe, could have worn Cinderilla's
slipper. Her attire was of the most magnificent
order. Far be it from us to attempt a description
of the velvet and brocade, the ruffs and laces,
the necklaces of cameos and diamonds, and an
infinite variety of other precious stones with
which she had adorned her unparalleled person.

The cavalier who sat by her side, and who
was now enjoying her capricious smiles, was
one worthy to be the companion of the royal
beauty. He wore no mask, and his features
were exposed in all their classic and beautiful
proportions. The forehead was ample and majestic,
and shaded by thick curls of dark, brown
hair, which having been displaced during the
whirling waltz, now flowed carelessly about a
face which would have formed a study for the
great Athenian seulptor. The nose was Grecian
and faultlessly regular—the nostrils thin

and haughty; the mouth was firm and full—
and its expression fraught with sensibility. He
wore a slight moustache curled upwards from
the chin, according to the prevailing fashion of
the period. The attire of the gallant was not
gaudy nor assumed for the purpose of masquerade.
It consisted of a pink satin doublet, slashed
with azure, and ornamented at the bottom
with golden lace. Upon his knee rested a toque
or cap, surmounted by a tuft of gaily colored
feathers. Had Vandyck been there, he would
have sighed to transfer the group to canvass.

“They look excessively lover like,” observed
the dark mask in the king's suite, coming up
behind Louise de L'Estoile, and uttering the remark
in a low tone, as if purposely for her ear
alone. The lady turned haughtily towards the
king, as if to indicate that, however unpleasant
his marked favors might be, they were infinitely
less so than the officious observations of the disguised
cavalier.

“Methinks our fair sister of Navarre is carrying
it rather too far with that handsome gallant,”
said Henri.

“See how their hands caress each other. By
Cupidon! See, he is about to kiss her,” said
the dark mask, interposing between Louise and
the king.

The expression of haughtiness entirely vanished
from the face of the lovely demoiselle, and
was succeeded by one of the deepest anguish.
She besought his majesty to conduct her away
to a seat.

As Marguerite's companion leaned over to
pick up her fan which had fallen—the act which
had been so maliciously misconstrued by the
masked courtier—he observed to the queen with
considerable interest:

“The chevalier of the purple vizard appears
to be annoying the demoiselle de L'Estoile. Do
you note the pained expression of her features?
Ha, I believe he has insulted her!”

Marguerite of Valois was as intensely jealous
in disposition, as she was transcendantly lovely
in person.

“You honor me, Chevalier Tremlet, by the
interest you exhibit in the other ladies of the
court!” said she, satirically, and fixing upon him
a searching look.

“I would not stand by and see your tire woman
gratuitously affronted by a man whose only
authority for the insult was a doublet glittering
with orders.”

“That is a rare sentiment to be heard at this
gay court, mon beau chevalier!” exclaimed
Marguerite, appeased, and fixing her beautiful
eyes fondly upon his face.

“Know you the purple mask?” inquired her
companion.

“He is Bussy D'Amboise, a rejected lover of
mine, and an unsuccessful suitor for the hand of
Louise de L'Estoile. He is brave, and was
handsome and generous; but frequent disappointment
has wrinkled his brow and soured
his temper.”

“I have heard of his feats at arms, and of his
prowess in the tournament. But the chagrin of
a rejected suitor would never warrant such discourtesies
as he has just evinced towards a noble
dame. It declares him void of chivalry and
true nobility.”

“Tremlet, hear me! If you would not rouse
my jealous nature, do not thus be ever evincing
your concern for the belle Louise. Passionately
as I love you, I could hate as fervently. If
I felt that I had a rival in your bosom, I would
spurn you. I might—but away the dreadful
thought! Come, mon chevalier!” continued the
passionate queen of Navarre, suddenly changing
her tone and manner; while all are looking on
us, as if we were cooing like foolish doves, we
were upon the point of a quarrel; but it was my
fault. Your pardon! I see they are about to
proceed to the banquet-hall. Let us follow.”

She offered him that small, white Medicis hand,
and its little taper fingers gave a soft pressure,
as they were received within the palm of the
handsome and graceful cavalier.

The grand banqueting saloon was separated
from the main hall by magnificent curtains of
crimson velvet, figured with fluer-de-lys of gold.
At the signal of the major-domo, the splendid
folds were withdrawn, and a scene was presented
that would have drawn tears from the eyes of
Epicurus.

Far as the eye could reach was a maze of glittering
chandeliers, whose light reflected from
the golden cornices and arabesques, making the
walls and ceiling look as if besprent with brilliants.
Sunk in niches were hundreds of mirrors
which multiplied the objects of magnificence
around, and added indescribable splendor
to the scene. Wreaths of roses from Provence,
and vases of flowers from the royal conservatories,
were dispersed throughout the saloon, and
exhaled a fragrance almost suffocating.

In the middle and extending the whole length
of the banquet-hall, was the royal board. It was

raised several feet from the floor, and ascended
by low steps, thickly carpeted with a rich Turkish
fabric, so as to muffle a hundred foot-falls.
The mighty table itself groaned with viands.
Massive salvers, golden vases, crystal goblets,
urns and cups of the rare workmanship of Benevenuto
Cellini, were arrayed in long and glittering
lines upon a cloth of white damask, ornamented
with fanciful figures. Pyramids of confectionary,
piles of frosted cakes, and urns of
the rarest fruits were heaped upon the groaning
table. Around were stationed chamberlains
with their wands, and butlers bearing embossed
flagons, while countless valets and pages stood
ready to attend the slightest signal. At intervals,
down the whole length of the hall, on
either side, were massive side-boards with goblets
and urns steaming with the rich wines of
Cyprus and Syracuse, and loaded with coreens
containing piquant viands, ready to be brought
on in order.

About half way down the saloon was a magnificent
throne, raised several feet above the ordinary
seats of the table and formed of azure
silk, adorned, as was almost everything about
the Louvre, with golden fleur-de-lys, and powdered
with gems of price.

Amidst exhilarating strains of music, Henri
III., accompanied by Louise de L'Estoile, led
the way towards the gorgeous festive preparation.
Immediately behind them proceeded Catharine
de Medicis, accompanied by the purple mask, or,
as we shall denominate him in future, Bussy
D'Amboise—and they were in their turn followed
by Marguerite of Valeis and the Chevalier
Tremlet. Behind these came the whole of the
glittering train which comprised the court.

Henri proceeded to occupy the throne at the
middle of the saloon, and around him were disposed
the members of the royal family, those
nearest to his person and his peculiar favorites.
If the scene was grand at first, how inconceivably
more so was it when the splendors of that
brilliant throng were added to it? The servitors
began the attack upon the viands with their
huge knives, and soon the carouse was at its
height. Merry jests went round, and sometimes
pretty broad ones too, for that court was not
over-scrupulous—dark eyes flashed with unwonted
lustre under the influence of the generous
wines, and soft cheeks flushed, as tender speeches
were uttered by amorous gallants.

Around the king's throne, amid the royal refinue,
the laughter was loudest, the jests broad
est, and the gaiety highest, for Henri loved the
revel above all things, and was more captivated
by a merry song at the festive board, than by the
noblest deeds of chivalry, or the wildest adventures
of the chase. While the feast was at its
height and the grand saloon resounded with the
shouts of the wassailers, suddenly there arose
confusion amidst the royal company.

“Hold!” shouted the king, “drink not another
drop on peril of your lives! The wine in my
goblet is poisoned!” and holding up his cup,
foaming with the glorious grape of Syracuse, he
dipped into it a dark green bezoar set in gold,
which he had just removed from his finger, and
on taking it out the stone had become perfectly
white. The faces of all around who could see
the effect of the king's experiment became deadly
pale. Venetian glass was brought, and the
wine in the flagons was first tested, then that in
the goblets of several of the guests, and finally
that in the king's goblet was tried again. They
all bore the test until the glass was dipped into
Henri's cup, when the wine bubbled and shivered
it into fragments.

“I charge Louise de L'Estoile with drugging
thy wine, sire!” exclaimed Bussy D'Amboise,
rising and uttering the words with unparalleled
boldness and effrontery.

The Chevalier Tremlet bounded to his feet.

“The charge which that pusillanimous caitiff
brings against the noble lady is as false as his
heart, and that the tale is a malicious and wilful
fabrication, I will approve upon him by mortal
combat! There is my defiance!” he shouted,
hurling his glove at the feet of the insolent
D'Amboise; “as champion of the Lady Louise
de L'Estoile, I challenge you, Bussy D'Amboise,
to maintain your infamous assertion in deadly
combat!”

“I accept your challenge,” said the cavalier,
placing the glove which was handed him by a
page within his girdle. Tremlet's valet stepped
forward and receiving Bussy's gauntlet bore it
back to his master.

“These are strange proceedings in our presence!”
exclaimed Henri; “were not the charge
so evidently malicious and unprovoked, I would
bid you both give back the gloves until some
explanation were made, or at least until our
permission were asked for the duel. But as it
is, we give our sanction and approval, although
you have not had the courtesy to ask it of us.
Let the combat take place to-morrow in the lists;
we bid you break a lance together, and if the

contest be not fatal on the issue of the third
course, let it be renewed with swords!”

Having uttered this, amid the fanfares of
trumpets and the notes of hautboys, the monarch
withdrew from the supper hall, accompanied by
Catharine de Medicis and Marguerite of Valois,
with their immediate trains.

2. CHAPTER II.
THE JOUST.

Within the gardens of the Louvre, the lists
had been quickly erected, and as the hour appointed
for the tilting upon the succeeding day
drew nigh, the avenues of approach to the palace
courts were thronged with crowds of eager people.
Barriers of half a dozen feet in height extended
from an angle of the palace walls for a
distance of eighty feet, enclosing an arena perfectly
smooth, and eminently adapted in every
respect for the chivalrous exercises of the tourney.
Around, were erected galleries and balco
nies hung with magnificent drapery, and fluttering
with banners and streamers emblazoned with
escutcheous and fleur-de-lys. At the right were
the pavilions of the king, his royal mother and
sister. They glowed with splendid hangings of
tapestry, and were each surmounted by silken
banners gleaming with the royal arms. At the
entrance were canopies for the king-at-arms, the
marshals and the other officers of the field.

Long before the appointed hour the galleries
were crowded with the nobility, chivalry and
beauty of the capital. Tier above tier they
rose, densely packed with high-born dames and
cavaliers, whose rich attire was rendered more
dazzling and brilliant by the effect of the sun
beams which poured down into the arena and
threw a glorious halo of light upon the whole
magnificent spectacle.

Within the grand pavilions reclined the three
members of the royal family. Louise de L'Estoile
was in Catharine's retinue. Her face was pale,
but her manner was composed, and she looked
irresistingly lovely. Marguerite of Valois looked
the queen to perfection. Her stomacher flamed
with stars and brilliants, and she sat haughtily
in the midst of her proud suite. There could be
discerned a sad and disappointed expression
upon her haughty features, and she cast hasty
and displeased glances now and then towards
the Demoiselle de L'Estoile.

All was animation and excitement—thousands
of voices floated in low murmurs through the
arena, like the muffled roar of the ocean; silken
dresses rustled in the breezes, and jewels flashed
from fair round arms and raven tresses. Suddenly
trumpets brayed, cymbals clashed, the lists
were opened, and the combatants accompanied
by their seconds bounded into the ring—their
horses caracolling and demivaulting, and their
pennons fluttering from their lances.

The Chevalier Tremlet was arrayed in a polished
suit of dark Milan steel, the corselet encrusted
with figures in gold, and the casque
surmounted by a long flowing plume of crimson
feathers. His visor was open, disclosing to
view the manly beauty and classic symmetry of
his features. The housings of his charger were
of the most gorgeous description, consisting of
cloth of gold curiously wrought and bordered
with minever. The bridle and martingale were
studded with diamonds, and the head-piece was
of stout mail, from which projected a sharp steel
pike, over which waved a plume of ostrich feathers
stuck between the ears of the charger.

Bussy D'Amboise was equipped quite as
splendidly as his antagonist, although the plume
in his morion and the caparisons of his charger
were different, being those of another house.
His surcoat was blazoned with armorial insignia,
and his shield embossed with golden devices.

After the knights had ridden curvetting about
the arena, they took their stations at opposite
posts of the tilt yard, and awaited by the side
of their seconds the king's signal for the commencement
of the combat. Henri presently
waved his hand and amid the fanfares of trumpets
and the resounding of clarions, the king-at-arms
advanced to the middle of the field and
hurling a gauntlet upon the sand proclaimed the
rank, and cause of quarrel of the combatants, and
shouted for them to leave the barriers.

Levelling their lances and firmly fixing them
in rest, the cavaliers shut down their visors, and
plunging forward, were in an instant running
the course in mad career. They met in rude
shock in the middle of the field; their steeds
recoiled upon their haunches, and their lances
shivered, truncheons and all, into a thousand
splinters. Going back to their posts they received
fresh lances from their attendants, and returned
to the tilt. In this second course, the
lance-point of the Chevalier Tremlet split the

beaver of D'Amboise, but neither wounded nor
unhorsed him. They were again returning for
new weapons when the king made a signal to
the marshal-at-arms who commanded, in a thundering
tone, silence, and a cessation of hostilities.
After conferring briefly with Henri, the marshal
proceeded with two heralds to the middle of the
field, and after a flourish of cornets and clarions,
proclaimed that it was the wish of his most
royal highness, that, since the two illustrious
champions were so nearly matched with the
lance, the fight should be decided with the
sword.

Silence was again commanded, and the combatants
rode out with rapiers drawn. Both
plunged their spears into their horses' flanks as
they approached, and rushing upon each other
made rapid and skilful passes. Steel clashed
against steel, sparks of fire flashed from their
mail, and plumes hewn in fragments floated in
the air and strewed the arena. Both knights
displayed exquisite skill in the fence as they discharged
blows right and left with inconceivable
rapidity. The galleries rang with applause as
either cavalier made a successful pass—fair
hands waved “an Amboise!” or “a Tremlet!”
which made the welkin ring. The anxious multitude
were kept long in suspense, for seldom
had two knights so equally matched, met in the
tournament, and the struggle was protracted beyond
all bounds. But human strength has limits,
and Bussy D'Amboise now began to exhibit
evidences of declining energy. His haute-piece
—which had been substituted for the morion,
riven by Tremlet's lance—was fearfully wrecked,
and the plume shaven to an inglorious stump;
the brilliant harness and trappings of his steed
were stained with gore, and there was a huge
gap in his corselet cleft by the sword of his
powerful opponent.

The champion of Louise de L'Estoile had not
been utterly unscathed during this deadly struggle.
The feather of his casque was in scarcely a
better condition than that of Bussy D'Amboise.
His armor was yet entire, although there were
many places where huge chips had been hewn
from the gorgeous mail by his antagonist's vigorous
strokes, and the glittering housings were
torn and gashed in many places.

It was evident that the combat must soon
cease on the part of D'Amboise, for his armor
was so bent and broken as to furnish scarcely
any defence. Gathering all his vigor therefore
into one tremendous blow, the sword of the
Chevalier Tremlet came crashing down upon
the bars of his antagonist's visor, rent them in
twain as if they were the filaments of a spider's
web, and inflicted a ghastly wound upon his
cheek. The blood spirted from the crevice
made by the descending steel, the uplifted sword-arm
fell by his side, and Bussy D'Amboise toppling
in his saddle, fell to the earth and bit the
dust—conquered in fair field while defending an
unjust cause.

Heralds and men-at-arms rushed into the ring,
and unclasping the helm of the conquered knight,
endeavored to restore him. But it was in vain—
he had drawn his last breath, and his attendants
sadly bore him off the field.

The king at arms once more stood in the middle
of the tilt yard and announced that the character
of the Lady Louise de L'Estoile was entirely
vindicated from the foul aspersion which
had been cast upon it by the knight Bussy
D'Amboise, and in the name of the king requested
the company to withdraw.

3. CHAPTER III.
THE FLIGHT.

The sudden order for the dispersion of the
company which had assembled to witness the
tournament, was a stroke of policy on the part
of Henri to enable him to avoid the chagrin of
beholding the Dumoiselle Louise, on whom he
looked with special grace, publicly bestow the
favors which the laws of chivalry authorized,
upon the champion who had put lance in rest
in her behalf. What was usually a most interesting
part of the knightly sport was thus entirely
dispensed with on this occasion, and the jealous
monarch immediately adjourned to the halls of
the Louvre whither he had ordered Tremlet to
hasten soon as he could effect a change of apparel,
and receive his royal congratulations
and those of the beautiful Louise.

It was early in the evening, twilight had just
begun to “let her curtain down”—two persons
sat within a bower of the gardens of the Louvre.
Around them were statues of fawns and nymphs,
and fountains gushing water as clear as the purest
crystal.

“Louise, you are mine, and not Henri III.
nor all the royal family shall rob me of you,

while my brow can bear a casque, or my hand
wield a sword!”

The Demoiselle de L'Estoile gazed tenderly
upon her lover, and there was sadness and perplexity
upon her fair brow, as she answered:

“I am yours, Tremlet, but were the suspicion
of the relation in which we stand to each other
but breathed into Henri's ear, his Medicis hand
would press a poisoned chalice to your lips. I
would abandon life, rank, everything, sooner
than my love. May that licentious monarch
never bring me to so dread an alternative!”

“And were Marguerite of Valois but cognizant
of half what I feel for you, my beautiful
Louise, she too would empty the drug into my
goblet! Indeed, she has intimated as much already!
O what a detestable court! where chivalry
is sunk in sensuality, and wrongs are redressed
by the midnight assassin. Let us leave
it, my Louise. I have a home in England—I
have ancestors there! Come with me—let us
abandon this effeminate and unworthy kingdom
—let us breathe an air pure and untainted by
vice!”

“I would joyfully abandon my estates to follow
you, mon cher chevalier; but how could
we leave the kingdom undiscovered?” replied
she, gazing fondly into his face, and threading
with her snowy and tender fingers the curls of
his dark brown hair. “Valiant as you have
shown yourself at the jousting to-day, you could
not, I fear, nor would it be in the power of any
cavalier to elude the wiles by which this palace
and its environs are beset!”

Tremlet's face assumed an expression of deep
thought for a moment, he kept his looks bent on
the ground; then raising his eyes, he exclaimed:

“I have it! In the grand hall there is a fauteuil
of the king, at the farther extremity, canopied
with brocade and fretted with gold. In a
niche behind is a bust of Pallas resting on a
marble pedestal, its face directed towards the
arch which conducts into the dining-saloon.
Turning the bust so as to face in an opposite direction,
the pedestal is made instantly to revolve
and the back of the royal seat swings slowly
open, disclosing a flight of stone steps leading to
a dark subterranean passage. This once secret
corridor is now so well known that it is rarely
used in the stratagems of the royal family. It
was employed last by Cosmo de Medicis, when
Bernardo Girolamo so mysteriously disappeared.
Make all the necessary preparation, and I will
meet you there to-morrow night, when the chap
el bell strikes two. The passage conducts, after
many a weary turn, under the palace walls and
moat, directly to the banks of the Seine, where
there shall be a boat with trusty oarsmen to row
us down the river to a vessel which shall bear us
from this land to the shores of England.”

“Tremlet, you have splintered a lance in defending
my honor, and rather than lose your
love, I would brave every danger. I will be there!”

He seized her snowy, jewelled fingers and
pressed them passionately to his lips.

“You have a brave heart, Louise!”

“It is my affection for you that gives it courage.”

The lovers remained conversing in the gardens
of the Louvre as long as it was prudent
and even longer, for their absence had been noticed
by the wary Henry, and as they returned,
they were met by youthful pages and valets in
the royal liveries, who had been sent by the king
in search of them.

The hour appointed by the Chevalier Tremlet
for the meeting at the bust of Pallas, on the succeeding
night drew nigh. The moon streamed
through the easements, pouring a flood of silver
light on the thousand objects of magnificence,
strewn in profusion about the grand saloon, as
with stealthy tread and drawn rapier, the knight
trod lightly over the thickly piled Turkey carpets.
As he drew near to the kingly chair, he
saw reclining in it a figure arrayed in a robe of
white damask, ornamented profusely with silver
lace that glittered in the moonbeams.

“Louise, bien-aime!”

The lady rose to her feet, and Marguerite de
Valois stood before him!

“The Queen of Navarre?”

“The Chevalier Tremlet! You have come
to meet your minion, have you?” Marguerite
began bitterly, but her voice and manner softened
as she proceeded. “But I forgive you. From
my heart I pardon you. Your magnanimity
has subdued all the Medicis within me!”

“Magnanimity, my queen?”

“Yes. You saw me when I emptied the fatal
powder into the goblet of my royal brother,
mistaking it for that of Louise de L'Estoile. I
felt while I did it that your eyes were bent on
me, and when I looked up, I met your strange,
earnest, pained gaze. I saw you follow the cup
with your eyes, and ready to spring to your feet,
at the moment Henri spoke. All this you knew,
yet not by word, or glance, or gesture, have you
intimated it to me, nor to any one, as I believe.”

“I confess I saw the act,” said Tremlet.

“And you perilled your life besides, to avert
the consequences of my deed from another.
Chevalier Tremlet, if Marguerite of Valois be
jealous and revengeful, she can yet appreciate
true honor in another. I now do what I have
never before done—I pardon a faithless lover!”

Tremlet bent his knee before her, and pressed
gratefully the small, fair hand he held. At that
moment Louise de L'Estoile, arrayed in a travelling
dress of russet colored velvet, with a candle
in her hand flickering in its socket, appeared
through an adjoining portal of the saloon.
She started at what she beheld—her lover kneeling
and affectionately caressing the slender digits
of the queen of Navarre!

“Delay not! Come forward!” said Marguerite,
in a soft, low tone, beckoning to her; “did
you think a meeting like this, within this palace,
could be private? The very walls have ears!”

Louise advanced timorously, not knowing the
mood of her majesty, and at a loss to explain
the scene she had just witnessed.

“Give me your hand,” said Marguerite, and
taking the fairy palm, she placed it within that
of the chevalier, uttering in a tone not entirely
free from emotion:

“The queen of Navarre sanctions your union,
and bestows her blessing upon it. Go, and God
be with you!”

She again extended her hand for Tremlet to
kiss, and tenderly embracing the lady Louise,
turned and slowly left the room. Marguerite
had gained a great and unusual victory over herself;
it was seldom that her better feelings thus
prevailed. For a few days afterwards she was
sad, and a soft melancholy prevailed in her glorious
eyes, but she soon learned to forget her
transient passion, and consoled herself as she al
ways did, with a new lover, from the handsome
train of gallants who surrounded the king.

When the queen of Navarre had left them,
Tremlet, after forcing up a clasp with the point
of his dagger, turned round the marble image
of Minerva, and the pedestal began slowly to
revolve. After waiting for a few moments, the
velvet back of the fauteuil appeared suddenly endowed
with motion and swung gradually open,
upon hinges that creaked from long disuse.
Throwing his arm around Louise, he hastily
descended the slippery steps, and leaving the
door to shut of its own accord by means of its
hidden machinery, he pursued his devious way
through the tortuous labyrinth of passages which
presented themselves. His course appeared to
be perfectly familiar to him, and he advanced
with a certainty that immediately disarmed his
companion of all the terrors the place was calculated
to awaken. After passing underneath
the foss, which enveloped the palace walls on
every side, and which was indicated by the water
dripping through the masonry, their course
was short to the outlet of the passage, near the
banks of the Seine. As they reached the open
air, Tremlet conveyed the lovely demoiselle to a
boat in waiting, and in silence they rowed in the
direction of the mouth of the Seine. When the
morning dawned they were miles away from
Paris, and a short distance before them was a
small vessel riding at anchor. They embarked,
and before Henri III. of France had thought of
rising from his piles of cushions, or had dreamed
of sending a valet for his shaving water,
Louise de L'Estoile, already the betrothed of
the Chevalier Tremlet, was crossing the English
Channel on her way to Dover.