Part 32 (1/2)

She put her arm in mine, and we hastened along the edge of the battlements. We could hear music now; and as we went on the strains grew louder and louder, and at last we stood on the parapet overlooking the Ladies' Terrace. Beneath us stretched the gardens of the palace, and thousands of lights glowed, in many-coloured radiance, from within the foliage of the trees wherein they were set; or, raised high in the air, burned in rainbow-hued arches and fantastic loops and curves.

Beneath these lights, in and out of the shrubberies, amongst the parterres, in the shadows and in the light, was an ever-moving crowd and the continuous hum of voices, and now and again merry ripples of laughter came to us as we watched from above. A little beyond, to the right, the facade of the audience hall was ablaze with light, and on the broad flight of steps leading to the main entrance were gay groups, the rich colouring of their dresses--orange, red, gold, and purple--making them appear in the distance like ma.s.ses of gorgeous flowers.

We were soon in the crowd below, making our way towards the audience hall; but our progress was not rapid, for time after time a mask or a group of hooded revellers stopped us; but with light words and merry jests we put them aside, and descending the steps entered the great hall. Here the crowd was so great that we were barely able to move; but at last we reached a pillar, on the base of which I placed my charge, and, standing beside her, we looked here, there, and everywhere for the Queen and De Lorgnac.

”I do not see them,” whispered mademoiselle.

”'Tis like searching for a needle in sand; but, if I mistake not, Madame de Poitiers will prove a magnet. Let us keep our eyes there.”

With this I pointed before me towards the upper end of the hall, where a large empty s.p.a.ce was reserved for dancing, though for the present the music had ceased, and the musicians were seated idle in the galleries above. Beyond this s.p.a.ce was a dais, surmounted by a canopy of pale blue silk, spangled with the silver crescents of Diane de Poitiers. Behind the dais ran a huge buffet, many stages in height, rich with matchless plate, and in the centre was a sword, an enormous cross-hilted sword, said to be the Joyeuse of Charlemagne.

On each side of the dais stood the two hundred gentlemen of the King's house in violet and gold, the bright steel blades of the battle-axes they bore on their shoulders reflecting back the light in dazzling rays, and immediately in front stood the herald Montjoy with his trumpeters.

Although every soul in the crowd wore a mask and hood there were many on the dais who wore no disguise, and amongst these was the King.

Henri was clad in white, with a white plume in his cap, in memory of the day years ago when, arrayed in white armour, he had ridden the lists at Fontainebleau in honour of Diane, and borne her arms to victory. Near him was Laval, the gallant Bois-Dauphin, who ran the King hard in that gentle day, and, but for the short splintering of a lance, might have been declared the victor. He too was clad in memory of the day, all in scarlet, with a phoenix for his crest--the arms of Claude de Foix. For the moment he was engaged in talk with a brilliant cavalier, the Bayard of his age, Francis, Marquis de Vieilleville.

But though here and there a great name, or a striking figure on the dais, might attract attention, almost all interest was centred on a woman, who stood with the fingers of one hand resting lightly on the King's arm. It was Diane de Poitiers herself. Tall, with black, curling hair and perfect features, with dark, melting eyes, she bore herself as a queen. The royal jewels of France sparkled on her head, at her throat, and on her arms, and glittered amidst the robes of black and white she wore. Her voice when she spoke was low and sweet, yet I had heard it as hard as steel, and I had seen those red lips curve wickedly, and those dark eyes had looked with sullen and pitiless indifference on scenes of hideous torture and death. There were two masks in front of us, arm-in-arm, watching the scene as intently as we were.

”That woman was born to be queen over men. Look at those eyes, Montaigne!”

The answer came in a dry, precise voice: ”Eyes are the windows of the soul; but _Quid tibi praecipiam molles vitare fenestras_?--and you are courtier enough, De Brantome, to appreciate Fonta.n.u.s' warning.”

”I am courtier enough, my philosopher, to know that the crescent moon, for instance, is out of my reach, not like that orange mask there.”

”I do not know to whom you refer.”

”There, at the edge of the dais. 'Tis De Ganache, who, from the day he set foot in Court, has followed Diane about like a spaniel; and though I care not to gossip----”

Mademoiselle s.h.i.+vered, and half turned towards me; but the talk came to an abrupt ending, for the herald Montjoy made a sign, and the trumpeters, advancing each a step, sounded a flourish. It was the signal for the galliard. As the flourish ended the music broke forth, and in a moment the empty s.p.a.ce before us was gay with moving colours, like a wind-stirred flower bed. Those on the dais seemed to melt away, and mademoiselle, leaning forwards, whispered: ”Take me out of this!

Anywhere but here!”

She took my arm again, and we edged our way back to the entrance.

Here, however, we found the throng so great that it was impossible to pa.s.s, and seeing a little pa.s.sage to our right I turned down it. Here, amidst some foliage, was a secluded seat, and seating her there I took my stand beside her, at a narrow window that opened out upon the Ladies' Terrace. The night was warm, and throwing back her hood and removing her mask mademoiselle leaned forward and looked out upon the fairy scene in the gardens. The music came to us in fitful strains of melody, and outside was a glittering enchantment.

”Have you changed your opinion of the Court, mademoiselle?” I asked.

”No!--a hundred times no! Monsieur, I would rather be the poorest peasant girl on my lands than Diane de Paradis.”

I was about to reply when we heard a laugh and the sound of low voices near us. Where we sat it was almost dark; but there was a dim light in the pa.s.sage, and through the foliage we saw two figures standing side by side not three feet from us. In the orange hood of one I recognised De Ganache, and the other--yes, that laugh and voice, once heard, were never to be forgotten.

De Ganache held her hand in his. He raised it to his lips, and covering it with kisses broke into mad, foolish words--the speech of a man who has cast aside all self-respect, all honour. Ere he had spoken ten words, however, mademoiselle had sprung from her seat and stepped out into the pa.s.sage, I following on her heels. At sight of her De Ganache went back as if he had been struck; but with superb insolence the d.u.c.h.ess stood in her way.

”So,” she said in hard tones, ”this is the second time to-night!” And then, with a shameless laugh, she turned to De Ganache. ”You are unfortunate, Monsieur le Vicomte; you see, I have a rival even here. I congratulate mademoiselle on the quickness with which she has learned the lessons of the Court.” And with a mocking bow she took De Ganache by the arm and swept down the pa.s.sage.

Mademoiselle was s.h.i.+vering from head to foot, and even by the uncertain light I could see her eyes were swimming with tears. For a moment all her courage, all her high spirit, seemed to have left her.

”Oh, what does this mean?” she moaned. ”What does she mean by the second time? I----”