"My lord, I stand rebuked," replied Jacques Cœur. "But, if your highness would permit me, I would numbly suggest that efforts might strike others, to bring about the happy object you propose, which may have escaped your attention."
"Name them--name them," cried the Duke of Orleans, somewhat warmly. "By heaven's queen, I think I have adopted all that could be devised by mortal man. Name them, my good friend," he added, in a milder tone.
"Nay, royal sir," replied Jacques Cœur," it is not for one so humble as myself to suggest any remedies in such a serious case; but I doubt not your relatives, the Dukes of Alençon and Berri, and the good King of Sicily, so near and dear to you, might, in their wisdom, aid you with advice which would hold your honor secure, promote the pacification of the realm, and attain the great object that you have in view."
The Duke of Orleans made no reply, but walked once or twice up and down the hall, with his arms folded on his chest, apparently in deep thought. At length, however, he stopped before Jacques Cœur, and laid his finger on his breast, saying, in a grave and inquiring tone, "What would men think of me, my friend, if Louis of Orleans, in a private quarrel with John of Burgundy, were to call in the soft counsels of Alençon, of Berri, and Anjou? Would not men say that he was afraid?"
The slightest possible smile quivered for an instant on the lips of Jacques Cœur, but he replied, gravely and respectfully, "First, I would remark, your highness, that this is not a private quarrel, as I understand it, but a cause solely affecting the good of the realm."
The Duke of Orleans smiled also, with a gay, conscious, half-detected smile; but Jacques Cœur proceeded uninterrupted, saying, "Secondly, I should boldly answer that men would dare say nothing. The prince who boldly bearded Henry the Fourth of Lancaster on his usurped throne, to do battle hand to hand, in the hour of his utmost triumph and success,[1] could never be supposed afraid of any mortal man. Believe me, my lord, the thought of fear has never been, and never can be joined with the name of Louis of Orleans."
"Ah, Jacques Cœur, Jacques Cœur," replied the prince, laughing, "art thou a flatterer too?"
"If so, an honest one," answered the merchant; "and, without daring to dictate terms to your highness, let me add that, should you--thinking better of this case--employ the counsels of the noble princes I have mentioned, and their efforts prove unsuccessful, then, convinced that the last means for peace have been tried and failed, I shall find my duty and my wishes reconciled, and the last livre that I have, should I beg my bread in the streets as a common mendicant, will be freely offered in your just cause."
There was a warmth, a truth, a sincerity in the great merchant's words that seemed to touch his noble auditor deeply. The duke threw himself into his seat again, and covered his eyes for a moment or two; then, taking Jacques Cœur's hand, he pressed it warmly, saying, "Thanks, my friend, thanks. I have urged you somewhat hardly, perhaps, but I know you wish me well. I believe your advice is good. Pride, vanity, whatever it is, shall be sacrificed. I will send for my noble cousins, consult with them, and, if the bloody and disastrous arbitrement of war can be avoided, it shall be so. Many may bless the man who stayed it; and although, in their ignorance, they may not add the name of Jacques Cœur to their prayers, there is a Being who has seen you step between princes and their wrath, and who himself has said, 'Blessed are the peacemakers.'"
The duke then leaned his head upon his hand, and fell into thought again.
All this time, while a somewhat long and interesting conversation had been taking place in his presence, Jean Charost had been standing a few steps behind Jacques Cœur, without moving a limb; and, in truth, so deeply attentive to all that was passing, that he hardly ventured to draw a breath. The whole scene was a lesson to him, however; a lesson never forgot. He saw the condescension and kindness, the familiar friendship which the brother of the King of France displayed toward the simple merchant; but he saw, also, that no familiarity induced Jacques Cœur for one moment to forget respect, or to abate one tittle of the reverence due to the duke's station. He saw that it was possible to be bold and firm, even with a royal personage, and yet to give him no cause of offense, if he were in heart as noble as in name. Both the principal personages in the room, however, in the mighty interests involved in their discourse, seemed to have forgotten his presence altogether; indeed, one of them, probably, had hardly even perceived him. But at length the duke, waking up, as it were, from the thoughts which had absorbed him, with his resolution taken and his course laid out, raised his eyes toward Jacques Cœur, as if intending to continue the conversation with some further announcement of his purposes. As he did so, he seemed suddenly to perceive the figure of Jean Charost, standing in the half light behind, and he exclaimed, quickly and eagerly, "Ha! who is that? Who is that young man? Whence came he? What wants he?"
Jacques Cœur started too; for he had totally forgotten the fact of his having brought Jean Charost there. For an instant he looked confused and agitated, but then recovered himself, and replied, "This is the young gentleman whom I commended to your highness's service. In the importance of the question you first put to me, I totally forgot to present him to you."
The duke gazed in the face of Jean Charost as he advanced a step or two into the light, seeming to question his countenance closely, and for a moment there was a slight look of annoyance and anxiety in his aspect which did not escape the eyes of Jacques Cœur.
"Sir, I have committed a great fault," he said; "but it might have been greater; for, although this young gentleman has heard all that we have said, I will answer for his faith, his honesty, and his discretion with my life."
Ere the words were uttered, however, the Duke of Orleans had recovered himself entirely, and looking up frankly in Jacques Cœur's face, he answered, "As far as I can recollect our conversation, my good friend, it contained not one word which either you or I should fear to have blazoned to the whole realm of France. Come hither, young gentleman. Are you willing to serve me?"
"If not willing before, sir," answered Jean Charost, "what I have heard to-night would make me willing to shed the last drop of my blood for your highness."
The duke smiled upon him kindly. "Good," he said; "good. You are of noble race, my friend tells me."
"On all sides," answered Jean Charost. "Of the nobility of the sword."
"Well, then," said the duke, "we will soon find an office for you. Let me think for a moment--"
But, ere the words had left his lips, there was a sharp rap at the door, and, without waiting for permission, a man, dressed as a superior servant, hurried in, followed by an elderly woman in an extravagantly high hennin--a head-dress of the times--both bearing eagerness and alarm on their countenance.
"I am sorry to tell your highness--" cried the man.
But the duke stopped him, exclaiming, "Hush!" with a look of anxiety and alarm, and then advanced a step or two toward the newcomers, with whom he spoke for a few moments in an eager whisper. He then took several rapid strides toward the door, but paused ere he reached it, and looking back, almost without stopping, exclaimed, "To-morrow, my young friend; be with me to-morrow by nine. I will send for you in the evening, Maître Jacques. I trust then to have news for you. Excuse me now; something has happened."
CHAPTER IV.
For a moment after the Duke of Orleans had quitted the hall, Jacques Cœur and his young