Part 82 (1/2)
CHAPTER XXIX.
THE DEPARTURE.
When on the following day a beautiful sun, red but rayless, as is apt to be the case on privileged days of winter, rose behind the hills of Paris, everything had already been awake for two hours in the court of the Louvre. A magnificent Barbary horse, nervous and spirited, with limbs like those of a stag, on which the veins crossed one another like network, pawed the ground, p.r.i.c.ked up his ears and snorted, while waiting for Charles IX. He was less impatient, however, than his master who, detained by Catharine, had been stopped by her in the hall. She had said she wished to speak to him on a matter of importance. Both were in the corridor with the gla.s.s windows. Catharine was cold, pale, and quiet as usual. Charles IX. fretted, bit his nails, and whipped his two favorite dogs. The latter were covered with cuira.s.ses of mail, so that the snout of the wild boar should not harm them, and that they might be able to encounter the terrible animal with impunity. A small scutcheon with the arms of France had been st.i.tched on their b.r.e.a.s.t.s similar to those on the b.r.e.a.s.t.s of the pages, who, more than once, had envied the privileges of these happy favorites.
”Pay attention, Charles,” said Catharine, ”no one but you and I knows as yet of the expected arrival of these Polonais. But, G.o.d forgive me, the King of Navarre acts as if he knew. In spite of his abjuration, which I always mistrust, he is in communication with the Huguenots. Have you noticed how often he has gone out the past few days? He has money, too, he who has never had any. He buys horses, arms, and on rainy days he practises fencing from morning until night.”
”Well, my G.o.d, mother!” exclaimed Charles IX., impatiently, ”do you think he intends to kill me, or my brother D'Anjou? In that case he will need a few more lessons, for yesterday I counted eleven b.u.t.tonholes with my foil on his doublet, which, however, had only six. And as to my brother D'Anjou, you know that he fences as well if not better than I do; at least so people say.”
”Listen, Charles,” continued Catharine, ”and do not treat lightly what your mother tells you. The amba.s.sadors will arrive; well, you will see!
As soon as they are in Paris, Henry will do all he can to gain their attention. He is insinuating, he is crafty; without mentioning his wife who seconds him, I know not why, and will chat with them, and talk Latin, Greek, Hungarian, and I know not what, to them! Oh, I tell you, Charles,--and you know that I am not mistaken,--I tell you that there is something on foot.”
Just then the clock struck and Charles IX. stopped listening to his mother to count the strokes.
”Good heavens! seven o'clock!” he exclaimed, ”one hour before we get off, that will make it eight; one hour to reach the meeting-place, and to start again--we shall not be able to begin hunting before nine o'clock. Really, mother, you make me lose a great deal of time! Down, Risquetout! great Heavens! down, I say, you brigand!”
And a vigorous blow of the b.l.o.o.d.y whip on the mastiff's back brought a howl of real pain from the poor beast, thoroughly astonished at receiving punishment in exchange for a caress.
”Charles!” said Catharine, ”listen to me, in G.o.d's name, and do not leave to chance your fortune and that of France! The hunt, the hunt, the hunt, you cry; why, you will have time enough to hunt when your work of king is settled.”
”Come now, mother!” exclaimed Charles, pale with impatience, ”explain quickly, for you bother me to death. Really, there are days when I cannot comprehend you.”
He stopped beating his whip against his boot.
Catharine thought that the time had come and that it should not be pa.s.sed by.
”My son,” said she, ”we have proof that De Mouy has returned to Paris.
Monsieur de Maurevel, whom you are well acquainted with, has seen him.
This can be only for the King of Navarre. That is enough, I trust, for us to suspect him more than ever.”
”Come, there you go again after my poor Henriot! You want me to have him killed; do you not?”
”Oh, no.”
”Exiled? But why can you not see that if he were exiled he would be much more dangerous than he will ever be here, in the Louvre, under our eyes, where he can do nothing without our knowing it at once?”
”Therefore I do not wish him exiled.”
”What do you want, then? Tell me quickly!”
”I want him to be held in safe keeping while these Polonais are here; in the Bastille, for instance.”
”Ah! my faith, no!” cried Charles IX. ”We are going to hunt the boar this morning and Henry is one of my best men. Without him the fun would be spoiled. By Heaven, mother! really, you do nothing but vex me.”
”Why, my dear son, I did not say this morning. The amba.s.sadors do not arrive until to-morrow or the day after. Arrest him after your hunt, this evening--to-night”--
”That is a different matter. Well, we will talk about it later and see.