We were, in short, on the eve of that tremendous struggle which, beginning with the Day of the Barricades, went on to the murder of the Princes of Lorraine on that terrible Christmastide at Blois, and culminated with the dagger of Clement and the death of the miscreant whom God in His anger had given to us for a king.
Already the Huguenots were arming again, and it was afloat that the Palatine had sent twenty thousand men, under Dhona, to emulate the march of the Duc de Deux Ponts from the Rhine to Guyenne. It was said that the Montpensier had gone so far as to attempt to seize the person of the King, swearing that once in her hands, he would never see the outside of four walls again, and rumours were flitting here and there, crediting the Bearnnois with the same, if not deeper, resolves.
Things being so, the land was as full of angry murmurs as a nest of disturbed bees; the result being that the writ of the King was almost as waste paper, and bands of cut-throat soldiery committed every excess, now under the white, then under the red scarf, as it suited their convenience.
It was for this reason that Lalande urged us on, and we were nothing loath ourselves to hasten, but our pace had to be regulated by that of the laden animals, and do what we would our progress was slow.
Madame and I rode in the rear of the troop, a couple of armed men immediately behind us. Lalande was in front, and exercised the greatest caution whenever we came to a place that was at all likely to be used for an ambuscade.
Nothing, however, happened, and finally we set down to a jogging motion, speaking no word, for we were wearied, and with no sound to break the silence of the night except the shuffling of our horses, the straining of their harness, and the clink of sword sheath and chain bit.
Suddenly we were startled by the rapid beat of hoofs, and in a moment, a white horse and its rider emerged from the moonlit haze to our right, coming as it were straight upon us. Lalande gave a quick order to halt, and I saw the barrel of his pistol flashing in his hand; but the horseman, with a cry of "For the King! Way! Way!" dashed over the road at full gallop, and sped off like a sprite over the open plain to our left.
"Did you hear the voice, Denise?" asked Madame.
"Yes."
"It is stranger than ever," she said, and I could make no answer.
There was no doubt about it. It was de Lorgnac; and instead of going to the Porte St. Honoré as I thought when he left us, he must have crossed by the Meunniers and come out by the St. Germains Gate. He had evidently, too, separated himself from his men.
"I shall be glad when we reach de Bouchage's house," I said with a shiver, for the apparition of my husband had sent a chill through me.
"It is not far now," replied Madame; and then we both became silent, absorbed in our own thoughts. She, no doubt, thinking of the Vicomte, and I with my mind full of forebodings as to what other evil fate had in store for me; and with this there came thoughts of de Clermont, whose presence I seemed absolutely to feel about me. I could not say I loved him, but it was as if he had a power over me that sapped my strength, and I felt that I was being dragged towards him. I cannot explain what it was, but others have told me the same, that when his clear blue eyes were fixed on them, they seemed to lose themselves, and that his glance had a power, the force of which no one could put into words, nor indeed, can I.
It was only by an effort and a prayer that I succeeded in collecting myself; and it was with no little joy that I saw the grey outlines of the Château de Bouchage, and knew that for the remainder of the night there was rest.
I will pass over our journey till we reached the Limousin. Going at our utmost strength, we found we could barely cover more than six leagues a day; and as day after day passed, and no news of the Vicomte came, Madame's face grew paler, and she became feverishly impatient for us to hurry onward; yet never for one moment did she lose the sweetness of her temper or falter in her kindness towards me. No mishap of any kind befell us; but at the ford of the Gartempe, there at last came good news that brought the glad tears to Madame's eyes, and the colour once more to her cheeks, for here a courier met us, riding with a red spur, to say that the Vicomte was out of danger, and striding hour by hour towards recovery. The courier further said, in answer to our questions, that the messenger whom Madame de Termes had sent on in advance, to announce her coming, had never arrived, and he himself was more than surprised at meeting us, believing Madame to be yet at Paris. No doubt the poor man who had been sent on in advance had met with ill, and we thanked God for the lucky chance that had put us in the way of the Vicomte's messenger, and also that it was not with us as with our man, for he had doubtless been killed, and indeed he was never seen again. Back we sent the courier with a spare horse to announce our speedy coming, and it was a gay and joyous party that splashed through the sparkling waters of the Gartempe. Even I, for the moment, forgot everything with the glad tidings that had come like the lark's song in the morning to cheer my friend's heart, and for a brief space I forgot de Lorgnac and my bonds, and was once more Denise de Mieux, as heedless and light-hearted as youth, high spirits, and health could make me. It was decided to push on to Ambazac at any cost by that evening. The news we had heard seemed to lighten even the loads of the pack animals, and we soon left the silver thread of the river behind us, and entered the outskirts of the Viennois. As for me, I do not know how it was, but I was, as I have said, in the wildest of spirits, and nothing could content me but the most rapid motion. At one time I urged my horse far in advance of the party, at another I circled round and round them, or lagged behind, till they were all but out of sight, and then caught them up at the full speed of my beast, and all this despite Lalande's grumbling that the horse would be worn out. He spoke truly enough, but I was in one of those moods that can brook no control, and went my own way. I was destined, however, to be brought back sharply to the past, from which for the moment I had escaped. As we reached the wooded hills of Les Eschelles, I had allowed the party to go well in advance of me, and, stopping for a moment, dismounted near a spring from which a little brook, hedged in on each side with ferns, babbled noisily off along the hillside. To me, who after all, loved the fresh sweet country, the scene was enchanting. The road wound half-way up the side of the spur, and the rough hillside with its beech forests, amongst the leaves of which twined the enchanter's nightshade, swept downwards in bold curves into a wild moorland, covered with purple heather and golden broom. The sheer rock above me was gay with pink mallow, and the crimson of the cranesbill flashed here and there, whilst the swish of the bracken in the breeze was pleasant to my ears. Overhead, between me and the absolute blue of the sky, was a yellow lacework of birch leaves, and a wild rose, thick with its snowy bloom, scrambled along the face of the rock just above the spring. It was to gather a bouquet of these flowers for Madame that I had halted and dismounted. The task was more difficult than I imagined, and whilst I was wrestling with it, I heard the full rich baritone of a man's voice singing out into the morning, and the next moment, the singer turned the corner of a bluff a few yards from me, and Raoul de Clermont was before me. He stopped short in his song with an exclamation, and, lifting his plumed hat, said in astonishment:
"You, mademoiselle! Pardon-Madame de Lorgnac! Where in the world have you dropped from? Or, stay-are you the genius of this spot?" and his laughing eyes looked me full